The wind quickens the trees,
twisting the gleam
in little circles.
The trees
shuffle their heads full of green
friction of leaves.
The wind shifts
all around the world
in miraculous rings.
Here it shivers on summer
chilled in the melting Antarctic.
The grass mutters, the guttering groans,
bird whistles displaced
from wall to gate.
The wind is discontented.
It cannot stand in any one place
for any length of time.
It stirs the pedestrians’ minds to flight,
it whips up legends with twisted plots
and impossible endings
then begins again.
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