WHAT IS THE WIND?

The wind is a listener.
It blew across my yard 
When I was small,
Lifting my hair as I swung,
Caressing my arms
And my eyes,
Hearing the song soft
In my throat.

The wind is a whisperer.
It follows me down the street
Cold against my back,
Whirling out of alleys,
Curling around my neck,
Telling of things that are gone,
Humming lost songs,
Talking in whispers.