Her.

You, with that sad-eyed stare,
I’ve seen you walking these scheelite hills,
roaming the lake edge late at night,
feeling everything like hard rain on your head
that you just can’t stop.

Down the pub everyone’s talking.
They say you’re back from the forest,
been gone for days and days.
You say it called you in
and thankfully let you leave.
You sleep forever under a full moon.

Bold peaks tower over you in this town,
sentinels keeping solemn watch,
while relentless winds storm down the valley.
You’ve told no-one why you came here
nor why you’ve never left.
The mountains keep your secrets.

There’s nothing more disturbing than finding a woman crying.
That’s how we first met,
with all your emotions pouring out
like a wildly, flooding waterfall.
I should have given you a hug
instead I just stood there
as an angry gale blew holes through your bones.

Not for the last time I’ve found you howling here.
Remember that time I talked you down
and held your hand til dawn?
I won’t forget those tears rolling down your cheeks
as you kicked me in the nuts,
by way of thanks,
for stopping your dark mission.

We do, at least, talk now
mainly at each other
– a conversation of sorts,
until that look in your eye hardens
and you walk away,
every emotion a sharp stone in your shoe.

The wind’s been blowing its guts out
for days which feel like weeks.
You sleep over at my hut
but I wake alone
with you standing outside
leaning into the wind,
its dusty filth grinding some part of you away.

Those endless corners on the drive home tonight
broken by a spontaneous skinny dip.
Huddled on the shore after,
your eyes dancing,
the wind rising across the cold lake,
a falcon on a power pole watching us shiver.

I’m feeling better now,
you say one morning
while staring out the window,
gently blowing on a hot cup of tea.
I smile and hold you tight
as the wind screams down the valley.

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