Pouting

Have you not known?
No, I haven’t.

Have you not heard?
I’ve been straining, my God…

Have you not understood?
This is what I’m trying to say, O Evasive One.

The winds are blowing,
but they do not carry your whisper.

The seasons are turning,
but your face remains hidden.

I’m sure that it’s me, not you
— how could it be you —

but still, I’m praying that
you care enough to break this silence.