The Traveler

You come like the wind,
and go like the wind.
But I cannot love the wind,
and I cannot let myself love you.

I would hold you too close:
your smile, your laughter,
the velvet sound of your voice –
I could no more hold them
than I could a storm.

You are beautiful
because you race,
because you soar,
because you a free spirit
drunk on the world.

And in loving you,
I would try to cage you,
and you would wither
in a prison too small
to fit your heart.

So like the wind,
so like the storm,
I watch your work upon the world
from a prison I built
to save myself
from my own heart.

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