To Kiss the Wind

Nine years ago, late that year
because of Autumn's lingering,
Winter came and
the sun angled her rays sharply
to paint the rattling corn fields
with familiar colors.

and in a race,
against each other
or against the sweeping
hand of Time,
we ran like ripples of wind
and currents of water
hardly counting as human or clumsy

and as we laughed,
emptying breaths
in plumes like crinoline
into the cold afternoon air,
we kissed the wind lightly
with our lips,
wanting nothing.