Where The Wind Felt At Home

Where The Wind Felt At Home

(For M.R.C.)

I am the wind,

And the wind moves along

According to its path, whistling its song.

But when I nestled in the hollow of your heart

Circulating in that vase-like cavity,

It brought me right back to where I started

 

Between your gracious curves under the arches of your little feet

I found the perfect place to have a seat,

As I ran crystalized fingers over the smooth sandstone walls

Of your gently sloping breast

That’s when I discovered

The hollow I love best

 

Each bend in the winding alluvial canyon

Was a fold in your orange summer dress

And under trembling cottonwood leaves 

With whispers, I caressed your burbling brook,

And there inside my little nook

I found that I could happily linger,

Indeed I’ve been heard playing there

At least since last December

 

But now it’s February

And I will blow myself away

Though there is no other place

Where I would rather stay.

I’ll be heading down the valley

Through ephemeral arroyos

Whistling through saguaro’s spines

And driving the winter rain

Across the sandy playas

Towards the long West Texas mane

 

I suppose I’ll try to have some fun,

Slamming open barn doors and letting nervous horses run,

Sweeping through the black hills of Lobo

Through long abandoned ranches,

Knocking pecans down from off their crooked branches,

Kicking tumbleweeds and lifting dusty devils 

Spinning rusty windmills and letting croaking ravens 

Fall across my lonesome shoulder

 

But I will be pained too

And over distant moors, I will keen, and weep, and wail,

And over northern seas propel the sailor’s well-hemmed sail,

And as I cut across a cold Atlantic crest

I will recall the warmth of your gentle canyon,

And the only place where I could rest

 

And when the Coriolis effect

Brings me South and West

I will know I’m home when a redtail hawk

Sails through the canyon crying and bearing its white chest,

And I’ll be seeking, ever seeking,

That perfect hollow,

Where even the wind felt at home.

But if it is nowhere to be found

And eludes my sight, and touch, and sound,

I will begin to carve it in the ground

And over the millennia I will shape

Your lovely curves again

For the wind is forever a child

And my love it has no end.