Wind cannot remember, so returns
again and again, to polish each boulder,
caressing its curves with the obsessiveness
of an obtuse lover who cannot read unresponsiveness.
Wind has forgotten that the chapel
was built for people to gather in,
forgets to gentle itself on the headland,
drives rainwater through metre thick walls
so the only worshippers are winged beings.
Wind is fickle, tires of holding aloft
the many crows not to mention gulls
with their ostentatious acrobatics,
drops, sudden as a raptor
even though there is no prey.
All week, though, wind stayed close
Sometimes a mere whisper in my ear
Sometimes bawling for full attention
Like the primal creature it is.
Forgetful by Hannah Stone | Poetry Fabric Box
$15.00Price
