It is only the wind

The wind calls my name

With a voice the same

As my own, from another room.

It wants me to leave

And listen to it breathe

It calls to me, ‘Come soon, come soon!’

Don’t answer the voice

Or listen to the noise

Of its fingers tickling the door.

It isn’t the wind as it sighs

Nor the storm, prattling by

It is the night, the moon, the roar

Of creatures we are never meant to see

Of dreams that were not meant to be

Faces rush by, hands reaching out.

Mouths open as you begin to shout,

Laughter, like rain, hair floating out.

Stay here, don’t peek

Don’t see a face, a nose, a cheek

It is just the wind, after all,

There is no night, no lonely call.

There is no step in the hall.

© Amanda J Harrington 2015

First published in Twisting Tales of Little Things

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