The wind has always whispered to me
In dreams and visions,
Voices guiding my path,
Lighting the way,
Securing my destiny.
And I have always followed,
Others with dragging feet
Like a stubborn child.
It blew across fields,
Heads of golden wheat bowed,
Scaled towering mountains,
Crossed choppy seas
To tell me stories of time tangled prairie towns,
Exotic towers of steel,
And now I must learn how to make 2 into 1,
And still the wind whispers urgently
Of desolate northern places,
And how can I make 2 into 1,
And still follow the wind with the same gypsy cadence
I once had?
But when I consider making compromises,
Deviating from the destined path,
My dreams become nightmares,
And how can I sleep?
I perched high in the pines,
And below an old woman with hair braided,
Silver with the wisdom of years gone by,
Carefully treading a familiar path,
Wrapped in a shawl, and in her hand
A raven feather held up in reverence,
And me in my foolishness of defying the fates,
I squat unceremoniously
And defecate on her from my sky-view branch,
And she looks up at me with eyes that have seen the ages,
Sad eyes, disapproving,
Never speaking a word,
And in that instant
I awake in a sweat,
Wondering how I can make 2 into 1
And still follow the wind.