Feeling both
divided and fully-
realized by the Autumn wind
gusting neither
warmly
nor cold across my rough-haired limbs—
I first become small
and afraid
and thin as the under-fed
mouse on the garden path—and then,
bold as the high speck of red-
shouldered hawk slowly whirling
and finally—unruffled
as that nameless twinge of tender
firmness in the same wind
that allows the latent purposes
of both of those things
to be right.
