Throw it..

To the wind instead

The wind is back and not as fierce
as it seems. It carries rain to your face
and through your shoes; it cools
your knuckles, gloveless and wet in air.

She tells me that the wind here defines
persistence but I don’t remember the last time
I had to be careful of the skirt I wore
except today. Still air seems as common to me here
as anywhere else I’ve been, but, she says,

it cannot be: it’s so rare she savours it
as separate, wears different clothes. It seems
a shame to me to waste the throwing of caution
to an empty, unmoving sky.