DAUGHTER OF THE WIND

They’ve come.
They invade the blood.
They smell like feathers,
like scarcity,
like weeping.
But you nourish fear
and solitude
like two small animals
lost in the desert.

They’ve come
to ignite the age of dreaming.
Your life is a goodbye.
But you embrace yourself
like a serpent mad with movement
that only finds herself
because there’s no one there.

You cry beneath your sobs
you open the little chest of your desires
and you’re richer than the night.

But it’s so lonely outside
that words kill themselves.