the wind, is an overture
roaring, under conductor,
like an inward ocean learned
cresting and breaking among the trees
I listen for the conversation creaks
as if, to contemplate them
but even foreign songs have a tell
and perhaps my earth memory is quelled,
a spring day that presents more like september
brilliant blue sky that belies the weather
bamboo leaves flipping spinning
like an old duck hand carved weather vane, tapping
flapping wings with might upward against the stream
and stops sudden, a moment, an exhale, perhaps
the sun, with effort, tries to warm the day
just enough for the brave , to peek out, to partake
even just for a split second, top heads poke, gingerly, above the bow,
I am swept into this sea –
this blend of seasons, a menagerie
the rise and fall, the beat and pulse
wishes drop like coins into mother’s well
the facade of the world surely around
invisible and faceless
in touch with such bounty.

notes… just a feel thing, a moment, trying to draw the reader into my experience, maybe successful, maybe not, brush strokes against the canvas of reality here in quarantine-ville, the music… starts a little slow, but kicks in around the 2 min mark….