Tempest

Tempest

What have the stars conspired
with you tonight, so full the moon
and me so empty, alone and wanting.
What language does the rain speak.
He could be the wind tonight, pulled
through branches, dynamic among new
leaves, swirling with insistant
push-pull of circling at me, around
me, invisible, haunting and distant.
Then returning, again haunting, its
only his face in my mind when I close
my eyes, only his touch to dream of.
Such dreams are difficult when
there is no sleep.