Posted by: Jim | October 13, 2008

Boreas

 

They shiver in the wind:

The two somber little blond boys

Who work together to scoop a dead,

Soggy insect out of the river.

 

I sit and watch still and silent as a stone  in the warm water.

 

The chilled wind carves my weathered cheekbones

With kind and cold familiar fingers.

It has felt my face before.

 

And I know it will leave me

To continue south,

To feel faces in Belize and Bolivia.

To Cape and cold,

To billow the flags of Auckland and Myanmar,

To crackle a fire in Siberia.

To remove a man’s hat in Japan.

 

One day it will be back here,

And notice a missing perturbation,

Then, remembering my face.

It will whisper my name,

Winding through the trees.

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Responses

  1. Love it!

  2. OK, you’re getting better.

    P.S. You’re welcome.

    😉

    * * *


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