she hears

the unseen wind whispering
though she struggles to see the effect
of the blustery breeze on trees
blurring the edges of the branches rocking
back and forth as if life had come,
had come at last.
cumulus puckers pouting lips
spouting a drizzle
celestial spittle
flies in the face of the slightly less than perfect
reflection in the window, her face.
the uncertain rain on the glass is an echo
of the tears she still cries for the past...

2.27.2002