Poem: Wind

 

Wind

 

a festival of hugs

defying loneliness,

ethereal sculptor

never to desist, always 

to curve and swerve,

to reconfigure and slide

and upend the blasé sky. 

to twirl and pray and hum, 

sacred and sexual and redolent and effulgent ... 

this aerial ocean ... 

 

fertile of embryos-turning-ancient,

of cartwheels unkempt while

they cavort through hints of 

understanding of art of soul of 

gleeful clues fast to flirt and  

somersault and evade.

wind holds answers 

to everything we crave to find,

free for the taking, 

and yet lost, 

so lost,

gone to fugue and incantata,

wrapped without shape,

an empath in cowls who embraces 

our most desperate breaths.

wind is misty 

when sifted by our fingers and palms,

yes!  we can touch it, 

but it it remains so lost,

off painting colors somewhere 

in the dreams of swirls. 

 

===========================

9/26 moddds

4/24 modddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddds

4/10 modddddddddddddddddddddddds

2/25/25 ... major mods

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