With a movement of the heart,
you have removed yourself.
Where is not the answer, nor is the why.
Hour and the days to ask that, are gone.
Eyes don’t scan the horizon
nor the sky or even the tree leaves.
The answer is in the heart, yours
not because the coldness, but wandering.
Sky, void of the white clouds.
Sun? It’s there, pulling spring forward.
The feet’s movements are forward too.
Along a new path, where the wind
tells me of my new love waiting.
Maybe he’ll shut the gate to this heart.
Before the wind, speaks of another.
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