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Abstract
Orlando.</p><p id="9cc5">The wind blows where it will
when I am a child, a teen,
a young up-and-comer, a man with gray hair.</p><p id="cfc0">The wind blows where it will
and I imagine a dove in flight,
leading me back to my own lost heart.</p><p id="a712"><i>More poems by this author:</i></p><div id="e70f" class="link-block">
<a href="https://readmedium.com/every-star-we-cannot-count-82cf9c86feff">
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<h2>Every Star We Cannot Count</h2>
<div><h3>The sky itself is a poet, addressing our hearts and minds</h3></div>
<div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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<a href="https://readmedium.com/backtracking-1445d7372f7f">
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<h2>Backtracking</h2>
<div><h3>Retracing our footsteps does not always mean reliving the past</h3></div>
<div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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<a href="https://readmedium.com/a-glimpse-of-the-mystery-209258b10a3b">
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<h2>A Glimpse of the Mystery</h2>
<div><h3>If poetry were raindrops, would they only fall in the shadows?</h3></div>
<div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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