Wednesday, February 09, 2005


The wind sniffs at me,
Gathering my scent to itself
Like a child collecting
Grass strewn eggs on Easter

I watch the clouds,
Moving on tides of air,
As they wash, slowly,
Against mountain shores,

And I lift my eyes to the sky,
Making of them an offering,
As I pray for the wind
To come and collect me too.

this is an audio post - click to play

No comments:

what is this?

Tell me when this blog is updated. . .