Poetry Friday - at night the wind is a lonely sound

at night the wind is a lonely sound:
soft, insistent, desolate.
the trees turn their faces from it;
the clouds, fringed with moon,
run from the wind, away to the darkness --
away to anywhere really.
and the wind walks ceaselessly over the hills,
between the trees,
stirring through the leaves on the ground,
whispering in its soft hopeless voice
words that no one can hear.
i shouldnt have to lie here alone,
looking at the stars on my ceiling,
thinking about this.
no there should be someone beside me,
and we breathing together,
listening together
to the wind wandring lost in the endless night.

--
Another poem from 1972 or 1973. I detect a touch of Whitman or Ginsberg here and there, but as I was typing it in I liked it better than I'd expected to. I was tempted to change some of the affectations -- the lack of capitalization, the Ginsbergish "wandring" -- but decided to leave it pretty much as I wrote it.