Wind

Glistening silver like diamonds and blades, the wind hurls itself

Through one ear toward the other

Like a train on a straightaway.

It rams its rough shoulder into wrought-iron frailties

Ensnared between the two helpless receptors.

Like a wavering stalk left unharvested

I quake in frozen, weakened stillness

As the sun pitches its stabbing shards of light into the sea.

I long for the jagged angel wind with its blue lips

To sink its pure and chaste claws

Into my fatigue and senseless, mortal qualms

And to yank them from my warped and wrinkled mind

Into the open world.

Out there,

They can dissolve into the atmosphere

Or perhaps contract and, quivering,

die on the crackling salt-crusted beach