Air in Movement

Air in movement.

They call her wind.

Like breath, she crests,
peaking a water’s calm,
ushering currents in time,
light dancing on lifted waves.

She rises and stills,
cleansing with brisk intentions
alleviating polluting hoverings and
dead branches from the trees of life.
Seeds scatter in the wake of her fate.
The wings of gulls remain
untarnished by her wisps --
free messages for feathered friends.

I wondered if they were cold,
like the hooded humans
hiding from wind’s wrath dance,
so they seemed,
unaware of cleansing streams,
frolicking in her cosmic drone.

The unfazed entered without fear.

The marathon runner’s legs laughed
under American Flag designed shorts,
flogged by the pressure of her challenge.

Her walls pressed against the human mind.

Hair-dos gone awry.

Canines pranced with glee,
in their secret love affair,
never revealing why they loved her
penetrations against fury face and fleece.

Taking breath away,
she speaks of a superiority.
Only when I dared to enter
did she let me see the
silent whispers uttered.

Dust storms told stories of
loose foundations.