It begins with a strand of the wind;
sharpens your profile, adding a fine line
sparkles in your eyes
When it rises, we toss and turn
unwrapping the thin papers,
let it blow away.
There is something bigger going on,
in a quiet place, inside of us.
Before the rain starts
we stand on the edge of the river
as tuning forks, our rusting legs
slowly cease buzzing
