There is a beauty and freedom to wind that I’ve tried to
capture in this piece.
The
wind
The wind will breathe through me,
it will spin around the photos on my fridge,
leaf through the pages of these books before
I read them
conversing with the wind I have learned
the roundness of my limbs, the hefty weight
of my sagging waist.
I am fat and weary and the wind
will tell me of the hills gone brown with time,
the leaves fallen from the trees,
the waters drying on my lips.
The dust lies around my window
like a faithful hound watching over
the mortared yard,
the grass has grown to weeds,
the days to years and the wind
has stuttered and ceased to blow.
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