empty shell

the wind was up today
as I stood
looking out into
the sheets of darkness
folding over
the once green earth,

emptiness -
a shell that speaks
of a life lived to the hilt,

what was once alive,
now gone,
leaving behind
empty walls,
and empty floors -
an empty house,
with nothing to hold
but the wind picking up
with his sprightly dance
around the dead;

and then,
as if listening
to the slow churning
of my gut,
he suddenly paused,
looking into this hollow womb,
watching the hairs
stand on end
on this jaded skin,
combing them gently
with his careful caress,

breathing a new life
into this empty shell,
where dreams nestle
in a hammock,
cuddling against a blue sky,

and coaxing this empty house
into a freshness,
to dream a little more -
of children laughing
and skipping,
of squirrels collecting seeds,
and birds talking to the trees,
of people chatting
over mundanities,
and fighting over precious things,
of old folks reminiscing,
waiting to die
and move on
to other things,
into another
empty shell
where life waits
in a timeless curl
of silence,
of a joyous remembrance.