Portrait #26

This is for the space between words, the slow fall of mountains
leaving the remains of giants. There are wars we remember
that took place in our back yards, days when we thought
we moved backwards. The storyline has only been suggested,
through hints of color, and weather mentioned in passing.
Connections are left unclear, as in dreams you forget,
and people whose faces you can’t see but whose breath
you can hear and almost feel. The wind used to take
its time in coming, used to hide only to catch us unawares,
keeping the doors shut tight in uneasy sleep. The symphony
it brings rises slowly to an epic pitch, and falls, without shattering.