Thursday, November 16, 2017

THE REAL WIND

Sweeping
down from the frozen,
unreachable peaks

of some ancient, sibylline
range of mountains

to meander, invisible
and chill
the plains of the earth,

the true wind—
the real kind,

the perfect wind—
whispers;

but never in words,

much to the chagrin of
several philosophers,
but

mostly to
the tremendous relief
of the sinning multitudes

who don't mind
the thought of
being prayed for

but are desperate
not to imagine

ever
being prayed-
over.

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