Convergence Of The Four Winds by Michelle Vyn
be the wind of lost thought
seeking redemption of ideas
inside the hollow eyes,
have you ever thought of that pink scarf,
bleached, tattered, zooming through the sky
like a fake smile on your lips?
have you ever heeded the power of a blow
of air on the birthday candles, how it
erases the years lived?
be the wind that you can’t be,
be a smelly fart if need be,
be an ode to nature, or
a quatrain that seeks nothing.
do you know of the neck
that was adorned atop the light
house, where I stood, the wind:
my body, my sheath, my life,
and how it felt to be suspended
with nothing else to spare
but for a breath of air,
do you know that neck
belonged to me?
I died that second,
and I have been dying
I am the wind, I am
and I am invariably caught
in this struggle.
Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif.