Where does the Wind come from?
Where does he go?
He picked up momentum for a little while
and I felt his coming.
When he dies down,
Is he dead?
Is the Wind now, and the Wind later
the same Wind?
How can I tell?
You point to the leaves that were moving in him,
But they're not moving now.
I call to memory of his scent in my mind -
the smell of grass, of the sea, of wood, of pastry -
I can almost smell it now, but I cannot hold him in my hand -
Neither now that he is gone, nor then when he was here.
He comes, he goes, and I let him pass,
Like the shadow of a cloud crossing a river.
How do I begin to explain to you that he was here?
He is only as real as
the experience of that moment
I felt him near.