gesture figures on windy afternoons

I know she's around somewhere
Over there, perhaps, passing by in that cab?
Or was that her face I saw
behind that foggy window
no, I don't think so
no, I'll never be sure

perhaps she'll be clear before me
but more likely then not
I'll live with glimpses in the corners of my eyes
mere sketches of her,
erasure marks
blown off dirtied brown paper
from that open window
on the day with the blue sky, of racing bright white partially cloudly skies.

a day after winter rains
the trail of a storm, trying to catch up with the rest
but still lingering and being left behind
to play above,
and remind us
that the lightening flashes and trembling window frames in the middle of last night
weren't part of our dreams.