the wind cries

above this tenacious entanglement of bramble
the trees stand sparse
hunched over in permanent battered submission
to wind punishing from the west
each akin to a brittle witches broomstick
worn and bent from use

no place to imagine romance's blossom
though so it would become
many years after those kite flying days
and purple stained ripe berry fingers
first knew the softness of her lips
and felt the lure of her smile

turning now into the eyewatering wind
he gazed to the smudge of distant moonlit horizon
nature's fantasy, melding sea and sky
where his dreams of what could have been
met with the promise of what should have been
still haunting his troubled nights

regrets pulsed against the ragged storm
raging through his frame
all too familiar sensations repeated ripenings
the wind sang in his ears
sang her name
he must never come here again.