#17 (second poem for day 17) Not Empty Up Here

#17

Zephyr winds
gathered ‘round
on a craggy
mountaintop.

In ashen gray
and distant greens,
I stood against the wind.

I knew myself,
bold enough,
but not deep inside of me.

The air smelled clean
and in its’ pockets,
whispered this to me,
“Do you know yourself?”
and when I paused
it asked me this,
“Is anyone really listening?”