I stand in the wind listening
for a moment, then running
with it. Hopeless, this trying
to catch that

which sifts through the fingers,
not like sand, but like time
itself, irretrievable time.

No cloud morphing at the will
of imagination, the wind bends
but it is unbendable. It brings gifts
then takes them back again.

Never a misrepresentation,
more like mis-comprehension,
We whose feet must touch the ground
can never touch the wind

except in moments of madness
or sometimes
at twilight….

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