The wind calls your name

This one I wrote afterwards, after you left and there was only the wind that called your name and the sighs in the emptiness without you...

A wind sighed on the border where we left our knives one day, to be taken by the wind and turned into the songs we later sang on that long, long road.
But I will not rub sawdust in the wound nor un-know what is good for me, neither will I flee in the face of death, that which I cannot understand, even if I stand upon my longest night, such darkness to whither my heart, and though all the night be upon me, I shall not give in unless it is to come home to you.

I found a lost piece of the night pining for you walking the corridors of the empty hotel full of people talking and to wish them all well in these rooms filled with seaweed washed upon shores to walk the defeated sands, stars in their toes.

Gulls cry outside evoking time, while laughter as free as dust in the wind is trying to find you, the time over-due.
But you are no longer to be seen; and as the wind calls your name, the waves wash the sand clean.

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