Motion is a wind poem, a reflection on birth, growth, friendship, and support. Like the wind, we’re never still.
Motion – a Wind Poem
Dipping, the wind tilts my face to the left
and pushes my nostrils ajar just enough
to arrive at the edge of the garden, slotting
blades of grass into a sharp angle so the rain
can permeate the sleeping soil around the pressing roots
of letters and splinters leaching to fly on high but dropping
leaden to the ground.
Rising, the wind lifts my kite toward your temples
and brushes your sweat clear
to merge with the air in my lungs, sinking
droplets of pollen into the bosom of a purple flower
ruling your eyes, now a well, as the kite is soaring
beyond our gaze badgered by the same wind but gliding
Waltzing, the wind binds sap and bark
and crumbles the fence splitting the garden
midway and through, to bolt our feet to still mud,
garnishing leather skin with a medley of
stalks and roots so married
fingers can't hem or tilt them for
the sheer beef of the breeze.