Afternoon breeze:
Throes of some beloved time
Mark this place,
Scribbling old, stale letters,
With the earth casting the scantest of shimmers.
.
Recalling its vast flatness,
Where things far gone
Seem close,
Is a breeze that weans all
From time’s pulsing song
And the golden bars of space.
.
Lazy:
Like days on end become.
.
Secretive:
Passing through leaves
And other spaces.
With barely a gesture:
Surprising in its arrival,
Fading in its passing.
Like lifting a finger
To a circling moth
And seeing another
Move along a ragged edge of focus:
Near soundless wings a flutter.
.
The breeze sits and waits
‘Til all else passes,
When it will stand and tell stories
In a hushed voice
That carries far,
Like grief and love
All mingled in the fields:
Meeting for the first time.
Shaken Rain 