The Wind

The figs are burning in the bowl
The night time flowers hold their soul
They close then open
Their window holes
For the fir tree breeze
To waft air in

I'm in the middle of a tornado
And it blows, blows blows
Around my skull
But its calm inside my mind
My soul
Is whole
Like a cross wind

And the firs are blowing their customs
Their shaking down
Their interrogations
Like a cop in a New Orleans
Investigation
Sounding out a criminal

How innocently the wind now blows
So thoughtless in its mind
Its droll
Its happy to be on the land
Its happy to have left the sea
Its happy, its thick
As a sledge hammer
On a tree
Its thick not slick
Like an army of bees

Its drowning in stupidity
But its free this wind
Its free, its free
Of all logic
Or rules of the game
It knows none as different
To it we're all the same
It blows from the East
It blows from the West
It is a terrible beast
Or a welcome guest
It blows and it blows
Until it has us on our knees
And then from above
Its stops in a freeze
Like a whale opening its mouth
It is vast, unfathomable
Distance and depth
Going South
To the Equator
The warm antipodes
From the Winter Sport of the North
Where the ice bergs sneeze
And icicle teeth chatter
And breathes clouds of white breath
Til Snow flakes catch their death
And callous hands test
The warmest of vests