The sound of wind is in its movement,
its passage becomes its earthly voice.
Given no choice of how and when
it will sob or sing,
be shrill or mute,
soothe or aggravate.

(Wind is silent.)

The power of wind is in its reality,
its persistence becomes its earthly hands.
Driven by chance of why or where,
it will smash or smooth,
be brutal or kind,
salve or aggregate.

(Wind is lax.)

The sin of wind is in its trespasses,
its lessons become its earthly stains.
Riven by chains of gravity’s lair,
it will sully or shine,
be dark or divine,
sieve or agglutinate.

(Wind is meek.)

The essence of wind is in its actuality,
its breadth and weight become its eartlhy form.
Forgiven by storm of necessity,
it will scorn or simper,
be proud or sweet,
serve or agglomerate.

(Wind is alive.)

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/23/04