THE WIND'S TALE

THE WIND'S TALE

It starts with the birds.  Wind can place them

Where it wants them, a kind of skywriting that

Is so elaborate cultures could actually read them

As they moved upon the wind, daring and articulate.

The thermals curve and swirl.  From here flight seems

Without effort and the wings upon them must be an

Imagined sound of wind over primary flight feathers.

*

The temple of night snow under a full moon.

The wind holds the flakes and I have heard them

Touch the ground, owned by the wind, made to

Describe the landscape by the wind, shown the drifts

White and deep before the howl of blizzard interrupts

The lesson and confirms the myriad voices this whiteness

Contains.  “I will hide everything from you under the pleated

Drape of snow.  And we will recognize this same tale 

In the desert, in the sand dunes and the wind voices

Caught in canyons and dancing with dust devils, tornados

Hurricanes and other extreme manifestations, wheel

Within wheels spinning with millions of copies of mantra

Locked inside them.

This is that same wind. “ Open your hand and feel it

Move over your fingertips.  We will ride the great vehicle.

We will be the be the birds floating over the highest places.”