Symmetry

The breeze is incredibly boisterous.

It encircles me and embraces me in gasps and flirtations,

Pressing beneath my clothes in fits of ebullient whimsy.

Meanwhile sunlight drips through strands of comb-over cloud,

Desperate remnants of a spring storm attempting to cover a barren sky.

I see a boy at the opposite edge of this circular trail.

His feet slip in his sandals,

A layer of wet gravel-dust between his heels and shoe soles.

Maybe I could say he is a younger version of myself,

That he is walking the same way I used to --

But he's just another lonely kid,

And I'd rather forget that part of myself.