I braced against the wind. The same wind that sang through earthen tunnels, pores in the volcanic chimneys foresting the hills. It took the sensation from my skin and hid in black rooms of cities sleeping beneath the earth. I traced afterthoughts over marble ruins, proud in collapse. Wildflowers exhaled from across the valley. Their breath washed over stone to keep them smoothed, polished, in death. It whistled through the empty air where the living used to be. When it hits you your skin blushes monochrome.

Turkish lung sucker
Always in the in-between
Earth belly of bones