Wind's Dark Poem

voice of wind

(the air in the branches)

sounded like words

whispering a spell on me

until I heard

now I see shapes in the low light

the earth quakes in the twilight

I see flames in my calm life

I hear the wind's dark poem:

(wind speaks:)

you can see from above, the rocks sticking out of

the yard behind the house make stone constellations,

half-buried in the dusk, the unformed stories

coming to life while I sleep.

the breath moves branches saying words that I

don't know, a new poem. a song I sang in a dream,

the lights of town faint,

something is exhaling in the sound of traffic, far

away. something's happening.

wind's dark poem describes,

calligraphy of branches writes,

stone constellation alive

the house is built on a boulder

soil returns to the wind

bones will blow in pink light

the distant sound is saying my name

the wind is taking pieces.

wind's dark poem is about the constantly roaring

decay, the destruction of every day,

and every morning's waking.

but:

even as spring is bringing

blossoms back among leaves

the cold wind blows when night falls

and the bare branches bend

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