the wind, the breeze, the air, the need.

the wind howls
from the north,
singing its song of change.

the wind brings
a new air,
warping that which
stands in its path.

the wind whistles
and moans,
overturns the trash
and tramples the dust
inside of the pain.

the wind is nothing but
mind, perceived by a spark,
lit by the hand
who acknowledges it
blowing.

we bring the fire of
our own misery,
shedding skin
after skin
like snakes
biting at the winds
that shift and change
everything over into itself
again and again.

there are a very few
who
break the loop,
and try as hard
as they can
to find need
in the suffering of man.

ask the peaceful.
ask the lovers.
ask the charitable.
ask the wind.

through all of these years,
the wind,
it blows,
again and again.