Hollow Wind

By Cliff Lake

 

Hollow Wind

 

A hollow wind blows –

Bringing nothing.

This is winter’s remains:

The cold has already arrived,

The leaves long since departed,

The clouds keep back precious moisture,

And still the wind blows.

 

Low whistles cry no syllables,

Yet haunting moans imperil the spirit,

A succubus in sound.

 

Gritty dust swirls up,

Falling again as each gust passes,

Taken aloft anew,

Then reposited.

Futile cycle.

Nothing changes

But the patterns on the walk,

Read by none,

Trod unseen,

Kicked and scuffed,

Waiting for the next disturbance.

 

Bare branches rattle ominous,

Swaying in a dance performed to closed doors,

Shuttered windows,

Lit from inside.

 

Children wobble overdressed,

Scarves and balaclavas reveal

The minimum of bitten flesh.

Walking becomes scurrying,

A handful of upturned collars,

Covered heads,

And bent backs intent on escaping

The hollow wind blowing.

 

Cliff Lake 2/14/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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