the wind

the wind
approaches you
with brusque
arms, a cold
attitude.
a chill laced
breeze
with
debris from
the street
of twirling
paper, crumbled
leaves.
you don't believe
the wind,
what it's telling
you,
how it loudly
speaks
into your ear.
these things
you don't believe
you don't
want to hear.
you prefer
the sweet whisper
of may.
the gentle stroke
her hand
against your
aging face. the
kiss of sunlight
when you awake.