this wind

draws squiggles on paper
phonetics to occasion
a harp in the air between us

hoo-hoos in high C
shuffles through tower block windows
travels along rail tracks
ten mile valley
concrete, glass, steel
under bridges
dead leaves clack like castanets

This wind
passing strokes of pendulum
the flight of months to nothing

~ ~ ~


We are honoured by his presence ordinariness is dispelled
like the lifting of mist from the noon-time mountain peaks the
grouped voices become more responsive sing harmonies that
the choirmaster has never been able to coax from them our
musicians find a new intonation and counterpoint the pulse of
the drums attend a sharper rhythm young hearts fill with
dreams which none but the idealist would think possible even
the air around his body is spellbinding coloured with tales of
adventure with wise counsel arduously won through long
debate with passion and love beyond the shallows of
commonplace with purpose with indescribable power that
fires the imaginations of the assembled he is pleased and now
his intensity becomes our intensity

~ ~ ~