Terce

_ But then I think I see the wind
as an intention, pressing us
with weather. All the pieces
of the air you’ve put together
somehow know just how to hold
the rain. They somehow know

to funnel and unfold, to swerve
the snow, to rake the beaches
and to slope the arcing seagull’s wings.
As wind inside a shell: they know
you in themselves. I’ll find you out;
I can know you as a hint in things.

I do. And through the window
I have known you as an opening.


--MALACHI BLACK