Breath on the Wind

The wind knew
when he died, it
brushed the tiny
hairs on his skin
and, living, it
bore him and, living
it caressed his hair
as his head fell
forward and the
blood on the wood
shed there - the wind
knew his hands and
his eyes, his
feet and legs, and the
wind bore him
from that place
to a rising that
none saw - it took
his breath - he breathed
our air and
left his breath behind
on the wind.
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