the wind in the courtyard

you can feel
the circling of things.
paper thin
survivors.
people you haven't seen in years
appearing,
remembering, sharing stories
of when,
each to his version
of what really happened.
the parents gone, or nearly
gone. the children
no longer children.
the old neighborhoods
still there,
but less some how
than what they were.
you can feel it in their
voices,
having traveled this far
through the calendared years,
caught in this strange wind,
the small wisdoms
learned, collected
and turned into one.