Gentle Wind
Tiny spider, your bones appear so slight
that my barest breath near you comes
over you as a hurricane of terror.
The silk-taut line you tug and twist upon
is invisible to my eyes, merely a
suggestion of gossamer scaffold.
You may now cling so tightly, and I fear
you will fall instantly and be lost, or
my breath draws you so close and
you will grab my hair, burrow
down my skin, down my back, and be lost.
So we joust the air, my breath and you.
Your silent twitching music of a
one-cord harp bewitches my thoughts
in this momentary song of emotion:
I am suddenly in your place. I am
this little fellow, pendulous to life.
Dry tears touch my eyelids. I reflect.
The artist
blows upon the zephyr breeze of Being,
and hopes the coming rain
may not dissolve all.
(6/18/2009)
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