She arrives, sign of rain clouds gathering.
Her bossom of spilling clouds sings to him
Of full moon’s eagle’s wings,
Of waters of seven halved horns;
Of chimera’s giant beneficient shore;
Sings to him of a whim’s leap
Into lightning howling
As earthwind flows into seawind.
Everywhere is the earthwind of longing
No new wind is called the wind is one (Whirl/wind)
One succour of sails and mute drums
Everywhere is the earth-wind of longing
And she would say no word of her gift of harps,
She would whisper no by-word in the vast silence
Neither wind, nor water, nor man knows her harp:
Her harp is grandmother her harp is her fables.
SENTINEL POETRY #29, Online Magazine Monthly, April 2005, ISSN 1479-425X