We become wind


The slow swirl

that has been churning within

gathers force, becomes the storm

shaking the leaves.

I recognize their tremble

as my own, am inseparable

from the oak

leaning over the ravine

of my childhood. I recall

some lines you wrote:

wishing your presence

could linger forever

in our creek, or be carried

by the clouds

to where I am.

I am transported by the wind,

united with your spirit.

It is a moment

like an arc, reaching

forward and back.

Broken open, I see

the shores of past and present

from above, the whole of time

an archipelago of accidents

and intentions,

a map mirrored in the mystery

of star-splattered darkness.



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