In gusts and
tear-pulling rakes at my cheeks
the wind leans against me
like a drunk on the train.Her fingers rake my hair
and glean out chaff from
useless yesterdays,
empty hulls with purpose served.Her fists though…shock me
with blindside blows and
I watch vital branches of my life
ripped away and gone gone goneWind blows do leave bruises
on my tender gushy heart
holes in my too strong cover
and bleak determined knowing
that I must go on
resolute and face
into the wind.