Leaves, Wind

Limited in language, mighty in message, they are signaling us: They are embracing each other, knowing the heart is what matters. They are darting out with serpent tongues, forked or otherwise, nevertheless speaking the truth. They are undulating like Circe in heat. They are fans, waving to China, until, the "aidez moi" fails, and then they are consigned to Braille in an endless silence; feet, bound at birth, promised to the philandering roots, the mighty pillar that supports them. Overhead, an invisible plane rises straight up to the Big Okay, leaving a trail of tissue, taking our tenuous dreams and aspirations to the place where they should go. If only we knew the way.