Evening Wind, Edward Hopper

My tired and wracked body rocks,
To the sound of patrolling wind beyond glass panes,
The wind that sought it out among the fields and lanes,
Along the windswept paths and gust-filled plains,
Where buffeted birds rose and fell,
Like tossed boats on heaving seas,
Unequal to the overblown breeze,
I feel it taunting me from outside.
We had our caress, it kissed my cheeks,
And now it reminds me,
Of its deceit.

2 thoughts on “Windchill

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