Pneumatology – an older poem

June 27, 2008

1.

There are days that blow by like wind
– thick wind –
wind heavy with some lovely smell
like honeysuckle or berries in the late Spring.

And it has weight;
– it pushes and pulls,
though fast and still air-ish.
But strong air.

2.

Some days pass by like strong air;
A single man blinks
and he is called Father
and blinking in amazement,
they’ve left home.
Blinking,
his wife lies down and rests,
and he is halved by time’s quick finish.

3.

I have fought against it —
pushing, pulling, tearing at my own,
heaving against the wind as it directs,
shapes, and. . .  comforts?
And it comforts — it even brings comfort,
and I must submit to it;
arms stretched wide and fearful,
eyes closed —
I teeter on the edge of something tall
and I will be fell
and proudly so
into the arms of a strong wind
lifted and tossed about;
child, husband, father, widower, and Christ.
And I will live like strong wind
taking no thought for breathing.

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