A Wish for Sun

I see you there, sitting on a bench,
wrapped tight in polyester and down,
staring out at the naked branches
of trees torn bare by winter’s breath,
and I feel your discontent, your angst,
the boiling within your core
that begs you each day to do something different,
go somewhere warm, feel the dry wind
which scatters desert dust,
touch the hair of a woman and
watch it glisten beneath your hand.

And I think we’re not so different, you and I,
both soldiers trapped within a war
that neither of us understands. There is
only wind, and rain, and the constant caress
of hands we do not know, and we are
cold without the light we crave, the warmth
of a summer whose power will cast away
the lonely lies we tell ourselves each day,
the words we live by, our mantras,
which keep us sane, and so we wish
for the brightness of a place far from here.