The untouchable

The wind has sinned.
It took ink from the sun
Wrote stories on the sky

What appeared as clouds
Became visible with the moon

Daylight is such a lie

Thousand stories

But whose stories are these
Smiling, crying witness.

And where are they placed
Right in front of nowhere.

And how old are they
Light-years, or a day.

In the middle of all these fictions,
The wind, the only indispensable voleur
The uncatchable offender
Perpetually in medias res, yet out of sight
The invincible, pure benefactor
No matter what, unwinds.