The wind does not require the grass,
He has loftier goals,
destinations unknown,
an ocean of air confronts
always itself, wrapped
around the world
with no expiration date
sipping up moisture along the way,
waters fields and junkyards, clouds
perception then suddenly clears
to reveal itself behind the mirror
where mountains accumulate,
stars gain energy and the life
of creation is still as the wind
never is, even on still sunlit afternoons
when birdsong stops, butterflies
close their wings, the gray stripped cat
stares uncomprehending
a mote without motion, silence rules
and this chapter’s done.
The gentlest breeze turns the page,
the grass moves, though She does not
require the wind.
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1 comment:
WAIT UP!
The wind does not require the grass to bow down,
and the grass never asks the children why their legs
run the length of the field, fueled by October sun,
the little girl chasing the older girl with desperate
longing to catch, if not her hand, at least
the shadow of her hand trailing behind her
on the still green grass. Wait up! she calls. Wait up! But her sister has entered another world
all book bags and school bells and her legs grow longer, stronger every day and she runs
up and up the slope running and spinning,
eyes closed, fueled by pure joy.
All this must happen as it happens now, marked
by the scent of trampled apple mash before
the first sharp taste of winter air. Let the wind go. Let the girls run. Let the grass praise the wind.
Let the story begin anew.
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