When the wind dies down, the world will reflect
indifference. Consumed with the growling
heart that falls like the panic from
the mind.
Front door closed. Locked.
Empty rooms. Everyone has left
the house now. It is once again
an address on a map.
Not a home.
Toppled heat that wanders like a
whipped cream desert smashed
onto the floor.
Not a feeling.
A sense, a wondering that escapes
the grass-stained knees of the man.
Biking the tongue-tied streets where
flashes of memories dump themselves
like ashes in a fire.
When the wind dies down, and the
sound of its insistence is no longer
the main event. Then the ending
will have begun.
Not a beginning.
A real time ending that features
the main characters from
the wedding photographs.
Goodbye.