Wind by Hullo

I hold out an open palm
to the wind,
fingers spread out
to feel it charging in
through the gaps,
filling them.
A sea
of invisible tickling fishes
in a strange flurry,
soaks with faraway scents
my little world.
The Aeolian harp whispers
soft dreamy notes,
lulls the vigilant self
into a crazy trance.
When I wake up,
I open up my fingers again,
waiting for the wind
to fill those gaps.