WIND

 

A breath blew up from the basin

through the golden grass

and past the ridge.

It buffeted you. 

Teased and taunted you.

It did this every time

you walked this stretch of trail.

Without fail.

 

And each time this tussle took you

you felt elemental,

not separate, but a part

of the living landscape.

 

The wind saw you,

knew you, inhaled you.

 

Take that breath away

and the ridge becomes neglect

and all seeing ceases,

and the stillness is a suffering

that is human.