Wind Song

 
 
 
Fragrant romance echoes
a’fall through cobwebbed memory.
Catches buoyant balance, calm within storm.
 
Joined in joyful merriment of dancers,
glide of
choreographic poetry.
Mind full,
whispers poignant song.
Beatific motion,
a chance to play
 
where love is symphony
from which breath expands
each to each.  Majestically enhanced,
this brief season.
 
In the wind
stories, blow, whirl,
wisp, purr gentle, insistent, strong,
rush wide, long, dipping below.
A galaxy, a swirl of lights
blinks bright, dark, invisible for a slow
millennium or so;
only vaguely glimpsed on night minds,
obstructed by veil, by shadow, by
“No, that can’t be real.”
Until softly swaying melody
centered in some fantastic sirocco
casts about for local color,
adoring djinn bleating for succor.
 
The field dances
hungrily with wind, with wild.
In the eye of eternity, wise
as any child, as any wizard
myth could conceive,
This One, This Master of
enchantments (believe, my kin,
believe) takes fluid stand.
Takes true command.
Raises eyes, might, arms
to conduct transcendent music.
Sky and ground converge
lightly, marry grace and supplication,
make merry conversation,
soothe wounded beasts from
secret space with dervish charm.
The few self-selected to observe,
learn to carry on these tales,
loose from sobriety.
Enthralled by call of magic,
weave a new reality.
Ride high on dragon scales,
spirits entranced.
.
.
.
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