Friday’s Poem: Wind that Shakes Me

There are times when the strum of wind

shakes me, turns me nearly inside out.

The hidden skin on my neck awakens

as if your hand riffled my hair

or a drifting leaf grazed my hand

as we daydream on the rocks,

while below shines the silvered green mirror

of the lazy, wending river.

It’s not a startle of romance, nor its memory.

It’s a shy jumping up and spinning

of my spirit, jostled from sleepwalking.

My heart, bare ember, catches a gust

and it grows, it glows beneath

imperturbable clouds, this haunted world.

When alone I go, I wait for visitations of air

arriving from mountains, from sea,

my hair billowing, a net of sail filled,

and everything that makes up this small body

hears the call and I levitate far

beyond our words, beyond regret