The Back Of Forever

i long for it
the feel of that
soft silk, hot
from the press
smelling of spice
and hints of
far away orange
scrawling over scarlet

the summer breeze
which sings of forever
but implies coming sorrow

and hear it
there in around
the dry and straining
vines digging in
stealthy red earth
jory loam and chocolate
windblown loess laurelwood

and long
i sit long
for it,
that wind
from the back
of forever

and here and gone.

That Never-forgetful Wind

some say the wind forgets what it touches,
forgets what it tastes, what it pushes
but I say the wind in the branches and rushes
and rippling the water with fingers and tongue
never ever forgets anything.

in the air that it pushes are draughts and elixirs
the mineral walls that it scratches and itches
are under its fingernails rakey, ah trickster
wind tasting and touching and saving and twitching
and never forgetting a thing.

and I find in me a wind, echoing that one
that tosses the stars around like they are dust
and my wind finds everyplace, my every cranny done
sparkly or plain or shallow, it simply must
always remember whatever it knows.

some say the wind forgets
but I know different.
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Letting Go At Last

raindrops slide,
stop, tremble
and then let go and run
down the window
in surrender
to the relief
of turning loose
their death grip
on the window pane.

beyond that
water-veined glass
tall trees lean
into the wind and then
whip away in relief
to give up and be ravaged
in smacks of wet windy
winter lips kissing in
moaning fury.

on the sill, here
with me inside
tendrils trail up
up and away,
straining against
the heat and reaching
into the cool air relief
bringing great incense
of smoky espresso promise.

and I relax,
letting go at last
like the rain
on the window,
like the tree
in the wind,
like the steam
in the air
just letting go.

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