To chance the Wind Eye open!
Pages within cubicles mussed up,
newspapers spread wings like quail fluttering
against hurricane fencing or falling under bushes.
Pine drone; elm limbs, & delusions
snap from their towers; electrical lines break
& writhe burning blacktop, burning air;
guts stiffen as though our bodies perch
at the edge of rimrock or sleep within trees;
film bellows & collapses thumping against screens.
On high ridges it’s always churning.
Many plants spread low to look deceptively frail
– in timber a distant breath sweeps branches;
or is water striking rock?
Who can say without looking!
Memories revive. Scouts learning
to camp under Osage at dusk
pitch their newly sewn, home-dyed trail tents
under fitful leaves; flames flap upon ground,
smoke circles to each direction, cold rain
arrives at midnight:
novices who ignore prevalent winds
awaken in darkness to catch
stiff muslin arching in flight,
their blankets & bags drenched,
their dreams silenced.
That Vayu has many voices!
To continue, click here.
Poem originally appeared in The Stone