The air rushes past and I can see
the silhouette I’ve left in the gust.
Arms spread, in flight (if it were possible I could muster it)
reaching for the ripples that play about my fingers
as if I might grasp them and pull them in close
to feel their warmth and smell the journey they’ve taken
to get here.
After, I wonder
if they have met me before and that is why
the wind comforts me so.