The Flour
Windmills Make
I've often
caught myself staring at windmills
Thinking
Every
breath is but scattered millet
We take
turns turning turbines
Catching
and releasing spirit
In the
flesh
I've had
the wind knocked out of me
By flighty
books heavier than air
Collections
of pages torn out of tornadoes
And at
times I have been able
To
hurriCane to the inevitable conclusion and ultimately inAbel mine
The touch
is feather light
And packs a
punch
The
kindness of which is windswept
Invisible
brush strokes winched by wings upwards and away
The flux and
flotsam
Falls for us all
I have the
great fortune of drawing breadth in this dimension
And in this
parallel
I have
heard that wind is caused
By the
stampede of ethereal horses
And their
charges
The ruts of
the course
Are air
pockets
That lay
untilled
Until the
windmill
Turns
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