when wind speaks it says:
"I am the river."
"I am the torrent of tearing flame."
"I remove bodies."
and "I hold void. I have no shape."
and I heard this
standing on the street looking south to the hill
where clouds were rising
echoing my body, being emptied and filled
"wind's poem by mount eerie"
recited by tongues made of wood
in no language
reverently misunderstood
by me, and then passed on in the dream world
deluded and proud, form greeting form
wind screaming
by mount erie, among the cliffs by the hillside, among the clouds that never lift
saying:
"I am the river."
"I am the ocean of changing shape."
"I bring bodies."
and "in the void you heard my name
and you are like me.
you are nothing but a place
where dust is dancing."
and then I gust that made me shake:
so,
fleeting and young
with mythologies pulled from lack
I wake up repeatedly
and belong to the black
meanwhile the moon in my mind
shines brightly