Poem: Wind Ode

 

Wind Ode

 

listen to the wind,

a festival of hugs

defying loneliness,

calming and stroking,

 

listen

as it shatters and unshatters,

an ethereal liquid sculptor

never to die, always regenerate,

 

to uphold the sky and spill it,

to moan and pray,

sacred and as well

effulgent and sexual.

 

the wind is always an embryo

rushing toward the faintest hints

of the most venerable

understanding.

 

art and soul,

the clues are in the wind,

flirting and somersaulting,

answering

 

what we crave to know, 

the wind, incantata,

a bard beyond words,

a mirror of what is.

 

 

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10/23 ... changed last stanza and a line above
spellbinding