The wind picks up
The wind picks up
So much more than leaves
Pollen and dust
Every hushed whisper is
Tossed high into the air
Forming new chains
Of thought rarely connected
Origami clouds scud
Over a backlit sky
A deep
Drowning pool
Rippling with excitement
Tiny particles dance
As thick as thieves
Waiting for the dust to settle
Before taking flight
Nothing is still
Inertia is relative
Time changes everything
Gravity is more fun than
A serious word
Carried in waves
By a capricious wind
Solar power is more
Than a sunbeam
With a clear focus.
A teardrop
Is the tip of an iceberg
In solution
To the problem
Of a drought in understanding
Clear thinking falters
In a slough of despair
A glacial silence
Is a chasm to be traversed
With the aid of goodwill
Crampons and an echo
Of support
If a raindrop
Is caught in a cycle
Of rise and fall
With no prospect
Of perpetuity
It is a certainty
That one fine day
Every single eye
In the house
Will be dry.