How Do I Hold the Wind

On the edge of silence beyond the mossy-muffled stone wall a wind chime chants — faint, like falling sparkles of stars— honeyed musings of a wind spirit on the move from west to east a bridge of broken chords. Cosmic animation stirs my domestic pulsation in a supple sweep from beyond the western dusk fallen, soft notes jangle in sweet saunter — so like you, an angel’s riff on an airy whiff — O wind chanter, I hear you and I linger in my undying love for him – for I hear you, singer! Sing to me of his approach! For alone, on the cold stone of lifeless dusk, I mourn the most. Like powdered night wings looping the lantern’s glow, I feel the brush of your touch amid the moments’ flutter a flirtation with a long tress and frills of my nightdress — O bittersweet enchantment! O wild yet tender wind — O miraculous visitor! But how do I hold you? How do I hold the wind, my love? Always, always! You slip away on blank paper wings! My human nature aspires to fly but my every heartbeat caged ironclad in mortal armor obliged in the grasp of gravity’s greed. Damn the bane of this spirit’s capture this coupling yoke of love that did not die with you! Damn the bane of my lifeblood, bound to its streambed! Though my wilted river rises with the throb of a tide robbed not even a river’s rapture can compete with the thrills of your unbound freedom — oh death’s freedom! The ringing sleigh bell singing of spring peepers intrude — O wind chanter – distant wind chime – your tinsel talk fades. Alas! He is lost to me again—lost! lost! lost!