Blessed Wind

The wind swept through their house like a storm.
In and out, in and out, more times than they could count.
Not knowing what hit them, they blamed the other because it felt less severe.
Half the blame is less painful than the whole.
It swept through, knocking down plants, dishes and lamp stands.
They'd put them back in place, then the wind would knock them down again.
Again, they'd pick everything up and put them back in place,
and the wind would come again, repeating its course,
and down the dishes, shelves, and nic nacs came,
only to be picked up again.
She kept wondering why she continued,
and he with excuses would sing another song.
But she never really knew him, nor he her.
In each other's arms, they did not belong.
Only after the umpteenth time, did they finally see,
the only thing left was their original song
and the stark, stale reality that it was gone.