wind currents.

the wind, does it leave you?
i'm knocked out,
breathless from it's handshake.
from the gut wrenching punch.

it whistles
up and out
through the winter tuque
you bought from your favorite vintage store.
the wind whistles with the echoes
of the past lives of the trees.

it's hard to remember how much older they are,
and that they will outlive you.
maybe they will outlive everything you own,
and even you, not as strong as you think,
will be brought down with a mighty crash.

but it won't be with a whimper, or a bang,
or even the droning sound of a chainsaw,
or with any sound at all.

you will be brought down, somehow, someday,
with only the sound of the wind,
whistling through the trees.