The wind is something new,
consummated by the gods
to bring me the scent of pine,
is something I can balance on
my shoulders like an infant
at the fair, not so heavy as to
weigh me down, but there
to remind me
of things still living as dead
leaves skitter in its wake, as
maple saplings bend to its
power.
Let it set the walls to quake
and raise the settled dust,
and I will celebrate its birth