There’s something on the wind
There’s something on the wind, something I thought
I wanted, someplace I wanted to be
way back. It’s blowing in
from the west, messing up
the underbrush, tousling
limp daffodils. Big-wind
aspiration, invocation,
valediction. Calling back
who I was, who I wanted.
Calling it back. Sending it off
with all good wishes. Somewhere
back in Kansas it took off, blew itself
across the Atlantic, tripped up in milo
on the way back round, demurring so well,
dust in the corner of the fireplace. It didn’t quite
catch up, didn’t quite insist upon its own way.
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