Friday, April 19, 2013

Carried on the Wind

The wind never thinks
about rhythm,
just comes and blows
and hunts, maybe,

for a little wet
to wick away
The moist of it
wraps me in eddies

and sweet caresses
I pick through the folds
seeking surprises,
lightweight gifts

of quick chills,
the scent of mystery ahead,
the new world
blowing in

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