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Northern Wind

by J. A. Cleminson

hard-blowing, ice-throwing northern wind
could render me, and mine, asunder
yet you, familiar friend of life
split to forks before my eyes
pass around my naked self
touch not my child
take on breath, mild
and render, your whistling mouth
to regions south
where my fellows
rubbing sleep from eyes
emerging from the deep
see you as funnels
seek the tunnels of escape
from rape and plunder
cast asunder
and rend the million FEMA’s
off their bases

no traces of whence
the trailors went,
nor man nor woman
dog nor plant
all roots cast to the moon
as sands from dune
whence your breath now turns
Sahara burns from
breath of eastern wind
hard-blowing, sand-throwing
friend of mine

loud barking, heaven-harkening dog
as white as blown snow
clear-eyed;
you know yourself
thus opening the door to me
you doubt not
not love
not justice
not your fate
every day a date unknown to you
or, if known, you render it its worth
of meaning; none, precisely
your one-ness
with man and plant and tree
a natural way to be
a blessed happenstance
of blessed cosmic dance
embrace the winds of chance

never do you contemplate,
my canine friend,
the fate of beast nor man
for you
the grandness
of nature’s feast
meets the mark entirely
you don’t dwell, direly
on your next electronic
nor phonic system new
no; your eyes upon
the moon, and sun
and all that God
or god has done
to make your home a realm
your home, a dream
complaints and anger seem
unworthy waste of time
who cares who “wins”
when all the gift, is time

guard of heaven
cast your eyes about
both upon the stellar night
and bird, in flight
the howling calls
of wind, or footstep falls
of wolves, packed as a group;
a motley troop
yet, these canines too
know who they are
and whence they came afar
and even, whence they go;
endangered doe
marvels still
at rabid beauty
of the kill

“things” and “animals” called
so, by man
man who has tossed away
both babe
and water, too
decay; of all things he has touched
save one; the love of god, or gaia
allah, or messiah
or other incantations
of the King;
of Aces
or mis-fired bow
springs the gut
true flows the arrow
on breath of western wind
sure to find
its course to distant eye
spies the mother and her babe
rent from breast
and thrown out again
insane circuit of human failings
lose the forest for the trees
import, and kill the bees
shush the croaking of the frog
demonize the noble wolf
ursus pushed to final berth

mute the boom of native drums
huming-bird no longer hums
man is off to kill again
bison and Jeronimo’s
forests and palamino’s
meerest web of spider’s life
spider’s web of meerest life

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