Married To The Wind Poem by Stan Petrovich

I was married to the wind
Until she flew off with colorful clouds
To the East. She went in amber
And fingered your hair at sunset
Like the rays through invisible high dust
Hanging in the air. At night over the sea
She swallowed purple mist
And flowed into the ships' quarters.
And dawn's breaching streaks allowed
The dilemma of indigo to drive her on.

I remain a crag-man, high aloft,
Carving these words in stone, slowly,
Captivated by time yet consumed by sorrow.
The language to which I strive
Is not dead, but one of true peace,
Beyond greed, beyond trust in otherworldly
Beings. My trust lies in my rustless tools
That create signs
No wind can warp.
Over time they only change for the bettter.