love the delicacy and vividness of this…it brought back a memory of standing under a wind tunnel in the desert city of Yazd in Iran… and the wind blowing my dress like a mystery… I wonder if the hem was wet… whether it would have stayed still. I love this poem… I feel the weight of the water on the hem.
I did not understand this poem but I kept coming back to it. Then I asked my wife. She read it as a "woman's moment." A woman in her youth would enjoy the wind and enjoy her skirt billowing — flirtatious times. Now it is different. The hem of the dress does not billow, and she probably does not want to be flirting in the wind. Times have changed, the woman has grown older. But I sense a hint of looking back with fondness on youth.