Wind, just arisen -
(Off what cool mattress of marsh-moss
In tented boughs leaf-drawn before the stars,
Or niche of cliff under the eagles?)
You of living things,
So gay and tender and full of play -
Why do you blow on my thoughts - like cut flowers
Gathered and laid to dry on this paper, rolled out of dead wood?
I see you
Shaking that flower at me with soft invitation
And frisking away,
Deliciously rumpling the grass…
So you fluttered the curtains about my cradle,
Prattling of fields
Before I had had my milk…
Did I stir on my pillow, making to follow you, Fleet One?
I - swaddled, unwinged, like a bird in the egg.
My dreams that crackle under your breath…
You have the dust of the world to blow on…
Do not tag me and dance away, looking back…
I am too old to play with you,