DREAM THE WIND

Dream the wind over ancient bones

sounds of a woman as she moans

in tears that fall like weighted stones

through the ghost of a haunted night.

Hear the heart as it breaks in two

whose branches distil drops of dew.

Soft feathers fell and never flew

like a moth in the candlelight.

The moon withholds her silver tongue.

The stars are lit and highly strung.

A river's song is sweetly sung

in the folds of the mountain height.

Sometimes more than a waterwheel,

more than a backbone made of steel,

as proud as a queen made to kneel

beneath the blade about to smite.

Love is faulted for being born

whose roots are pulled, forever torn,

a rose that's pierced by its own thorn

in a garden of hate and spite.

Dream the wind with its heavy rain

whose tears fall like a water chain

where love and life were all in vain

like the host of a harvest mite.

Dream the wind like a sparrow's song

singing, "Farewell. So long! So long! "

draped in fog like a white sarong

smudged with ashes that still benight.

She sank into a wishing well,

grasping for him and cursing hell.

Screaming she fell and fell and fell

into the black of blackest night.

Dream the wind with a tearful eye

whose gray lips blow in cold reply

whipping across a desert sky

in the palm of a dreary blight.

She shuffles through the sands of time

a tangled, twisted paradigm

tearing down walls that none can climb

with dark trumpets of andesite.

The world her whispers plainly hear

though the meaning remains unclear.

The dread drips in, the cold and fear

in the damp of the fading light.

Dream the wind with her tousled hair,

her hollowed eyes and skin so fair

sailing on ships set in the air

beneath a black moon beyond sight.