The Wind's Kin

Tiny lines
under your eyes
beneath those slim gold
rims betray oncoming age
and the down on your
cheek that unshaved
edge is pale gold in the sun
latticed by your wheaten hair.

I feel my finger there -
that quiet point of skin between
eyeline and glassrim, the only
place of peace, all else is
restless laugh, life 
breathing out the surge of 
walk run the articulate 
hands that sudden backward
tilt of head expressive and
engaged, voice-vivid, unafraid -
life-sided you 
laugh and go
off like a rocket -
your friends know to stand well back.

For relaxation, of course, you run -
wind child with wings
inborn too strong to contain -
and you use them -
those pushing limbs that
bursting energy one
surge of feet you're
to greet your kin - my 
Mercury rising on
a rising wind.
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