poem to music
wolf mother up north
whorls
a calculus
unseen, purely felt
where rain gets in
i always wander her wonder
but not to a what if
but rather how she knows
the notes wind plays
when certainty rests
under the Boreals
wind wears our pleas
our bones to squeeze
light to soul to shadow
tempest rite test em path
some order is needed she smiles
no words come forth but a poem
must be painted on the inside of my expression
she laughs, starts the next one
who is she the call to answer
any moment bends us to it
a step met tire tied to ride
chaos, her lovely architecture
and winged hospitality
it has become an industry
serving connective strands
between human thoughts
and how glow kites bones
into all those places
a soul slides between
EJR ©
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