Speaking to the Wind
Where are you now, wind, when you’re everywhere?
Jack rabbit of shadow, rustle of dry grass.
Then it’s night, and you sweep through the center
of tree or field, your hands too in love
with what their wrists do when dancing.
What unfolds its wet wings in the shimmer
only to be dried into flight by you?
What climbs a happy slope of light
then the walls of the sky start, clanging happy
fast down to the earth where a dragonfly
holds tight to the paltry underside of leaf.
Up or down. That everywhere motion that love imitates,
or at least what we think love can be, when really
we are what the wind bends over backwards, pours
back to the source to circle up and bow again to love.