9.13.2018

the wind, in your many fabrics, in your many forms;

 

a storm wind,

bold proclamations before the gathering

a pitch of storms

the backdrop of flowing gray silks

you come roaring about

throwing down bolts of rain

but such fury, rarely lasts

certainly less than 40 days

and passed –

puddles of remembrance

evaporate from existence

into your fellows;

 

the cooling tempt of night summer breeze

circling and caressing beads of sweat

wrapped under ears, across the neck

like a gentle kiss from phantom lips

a comfort whispered

in the season of the sun

embarked upon a soothing voyage to calm;

 

the cold raspy one

down to the bone

the pitchfork of winter stone on stone

pierces through, the harbinger

to transform, to ice

thoughts of warmth, all are lies

you strip the breath away in ghost

stinging, burning skin

forced indoors

to escape your intent

(and await your relent)

to your fonder brothers I call

that I know are coming,

flowing onward.

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notes… been busy with the whole family thing, so… talk among yourselves…