Wind

it’s far too simple-
these old men send the sons of
others to their deaths
–
a spring breeze-
the fog of war
swept out to sea

wind rustles the leaves
and coaxes a dryad’s song
of spring from the trees
–
whispers-
forest giants
shake off the cold

wolves of stone and snow
insubstantial in the light
of the forest moon
–
rising embers-
mournful howling
in the distance

a soul deeply flawed
ichorous and fetid cast
from a broken mold
–
bathing rituals-
filing ewers by
the riverbanks

my outstretched fingers-
a solitary oak leaf
floating on the breeze
–
spring afternoon-
dozens of oak seeds
spin in the wind

rain thunders outside-
oil painted landscapes smearing
against my window
–
old masters-
failing vision
frozen in time

a cool morning breeze-
silver waves ripple across
unmown fields of grass
–
gulls over the beach-
cattails bowed to
the rising sun

fields of lavender-
if tomorrow never comes
at least we’ll have this
–
apricot sunrise-
hints of vanilla
on the breeze

wind at the windows-
as I move to tend the fire
the cat takes my seat
–
late winter morn-
my calico sleeps
in a patch of sun

great sheets of lake ice
cracked and heaving in the sun
as they come onshore
–
a cold night-
the ice in your drink
begins to melt