Delicate fingers caress the wind
They whisper a foreign language,
known to only a few
Who listen but do not speak.
They tell no lies,
take nothing that does not belong to them.
They do not measure love,
nor the warmth of an embrace.
they protect us from pouring rains,
shadow us from blinding sun.
they speak of hidden truths,
a trembling rootedness.
they stretch their hungry limbs,
reaching to an empty,
never ending sky.