i.
The Wind
has come with you and I,
a preferable snip of breath
floating upon the barefooted butterfly
awakens the wasps' thermosphere.
The wind has gone with us, yet flees
attaining aviator apportionment
like a fugitive I run
to becalm my audible Existence
like a shortwave radio hiss,
lacrosse across light's withdrawel
symbolized by a whale,
reloads perpetual dividends
in a northerly golden spring,
unmanageable quadrant,
hidden away with you like
cremated matter,
looseleaf, entrapped:
"I just couldn't wait any longer"
ii.
The Wind has gone with you and I
but not only us:
An anointed intimacy
finds every one of us,
herding frontiers,
our hereditary backdrops
clasped thereon, bitterroot
interrelates them,
these seasons
how they vanish & appear
like that peculiar wind
that rattles morning's
headlong havoc, the cruxes
of which have withstood
droves of still-drifting
ancestors
hastening to seize
the seedlings we drop
every day along the way.
iii.
The Wind
will blow your hair across my face
upon the shoreline overseas,
meeting of no time, interrupting
scent of perfume rising from flesh,
recoiled in our decorum
where the wind wears us as a crown
where garden tendrils curl around your legs
that I curl around my own
out beyond the place where our past woes
have been eternally entombed.
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