Wind huffing and bullying its
way through branches
too timid to do more than move
noisily aside
as I watch
Burley Black Crows carried far from their
courses
shake off embarrassment
after slamming into shingled rooves
and dormer windows
realigning feathers quietly
as they sheepishly walk home
in anger
looking back at me surreptitiously over
drooping shoulders dragging tails
hoping I didn't notice
Scraps and scatters of ground
debris
swirl in intricate and parabolic patterns
winding their way upward to my
balcony and into my eyes
dusting my black dog with white gritty age
and scaring my black cat back inside
to sit on her chair
it's hers now so why argue
I follow the path of the wind
when I rinse my eyes
upward
and into the gathering, congregating,
ganging clouds of even ~ ing
the point when day and night
have the same chance
of buying my imagination
see them kiss, then change shifts
regardless of my decision
A high flying jet rumbles as it
muscles its way deep into the gatherings
winks once in the lowering sun
then passes into apogee
or perigee
or folklore
depending upon your view ~ apogee for me
you know
But the wind is past that now
reaching for more than things it can push
around
poking with thinly extended tendrils
hopeful in its tickling wispy entreaties
that one can brush the underbelly
of heaven
get its attention for just a second
see if anybody's home
chew the fat
ask a question maybe
and that's a journey I let it take
alone
because if this is poetry
and that's what it looks like
I'm not telling the wind
I've lived volumes
I've been there before
it's not my turn anymore
I'll just sit here on my balcony
and watch
Brushing my dog black again
and cooing to my cat
who won't leave her chair
even for poetry
