WEBVTT

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OK, three more poems--

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hm, they're very long.

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"Watching the Invisible."

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Watching the invisible
wind climbing swiftly

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the steep hillside.

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The grass rearing and
plunging like the ocean.

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Day of wind.

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Day of barely audible music
driving the seed heads crazy.

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Thin bodies twisted, and
swaying, and bent down flat.

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Wind printed with
fossils and jewels.

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Wind uttering flashes of light,
revelation visiting everything

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the same.

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The wind brushing my
bare skin with its silk,

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like a girl going in and out
of flesh as through a door.

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When I climb dripping
out of the old frog pond,

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Wind is there to meet me.

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Certain cold
thoughts racing ahead

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of the sunlight, not of death.

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No, but I think of the day
sinking back into darkness

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and the hands held
up dripping with it.

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The hands held up drying
themselves in the wind.