Wind

Yesterday, I didn't see the wind.
Stiff, the buildings didn't sway.
At the corner, half-block away,
a bit of cellophane skipped.
It's shiny pink side flipping up
as it skidded and jumped, 
skidded and jumped.
A smoking, green truck roared by;
the shiny, pink piece of gossamer
flew, twirled and floated
up and over the row house at the corner.

Yesterday, I didn't see the wind.
Stiff, the bridge kept to its feet
Two crows hung in the air.
Looking side-to-side,
they barely twitched a muscle,
their stationary black a puzzle.
Seagulls soared by,
their white a caution read to the crows.
As I approached, charcoal feathers
tipped wing and dove to the water,
a knife edged flight to the beach below.

Yesterday, I didn't see the wind.
Stiff, the billboards didn't tack.
New green leaves sighed loose
from the sycamore.
A chatreuse torrent enveloped me,
a fluttering of orphaned leaves.
Just as they touched the street,
they jumped, cartwheeled
and embraced the schoolyard fence.
A sigh of life lost rolled past.

Yesterday, I didn't see the wind.
Stiff, I stood feet to the ground.
A leaf rolled by, 
kicked up by your feet.
Your hand slid up my shoulder
as you stepped in front of me.
Cool fingers caressed my face
and you pulled me to you.
Your lips touched mine,
the wind blew.
I caught its tail,
yanked and it stopped.
We sat on the wind's back
and flew with the leaves
up and over the sky.

Kathleen Speck
06/19/04