The wind whispers names, blowing
Ghosts around. They rush past in a
Giant gust, and fall against the
She feels safe with these restless
Souls; they roam thorny grounds
Together, kicking tumbleweeds
Awed by the stark and stubborn beauty,
Time means nothing here, she thinks
As she presses her face against the sky.
The wind sighs,
And sighs again, as if an resignation.
She strains to hear as
Voices breathe into her ear:
"I am here,
I am here."