When I forget

As I grow old,

the wind wanders:
to stay a little close
or stray around the contours
of my crusted ears and wrinkled nose -

carrying, as you've once carried in the cold,
muffled howls
and scented flowers
of the past.

And when the wind flies by ever so fast
to send my memories away,
I really wish you could stay
in my mind unwithering

with your bold fragility, whispering.