The wind is a howling ghost
transparent and see-through
calling through the lonely night

Gliding, gliding noisily
its eyes searching, searching
someone who can keep the loneliness from creeping over

The wind is a howling ghost
Feeling its way with its cold bare hands
Its screech cuts through the silent night like a knife

Waiting, waiting for someone to be its next victim
icy fingernails down their back
so that they too, can feel what it feels.

Mai Linh 10/2002

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