The wind in the nose
scents of winter--
first time this year.
Remembering years before,
city traffic becomes
wind calling between
wings of tin and dusty rafters,
blowing enormous secrets
around stems of hollow weeds.
In winter, wind creates
a kind of silence
in and through and over our hurry.
Though unheeded,
still it pierces the core
like a choir communing in sign.
No comments:
Post a Comment