Meditating Winds

7:30 PM -
Blade of light stabs the night -
a man, a machine, combine
in bicycle - the commuting
blacker black of neighbor
slides down the drive
next to the unseen Bones
smoking in dark winds.

4:30 AM -
Unsheathed, man's violent light
again stabs a darkness
seeking to be let be -
and a man, a machine -
the blacker black on a night
turned morning - combine
in bicycle once more.

Trudging,
ascending the hill past
still unseen Bones
smoking in dark winds,
watching a minute,
an hour, a day,
a lifetime, a world
spin by.

Watching - wondering
which the fool? Whose night
more productive - the one
returning
but a few hours
to refuel; food
and sleep; then repeat?

Or he who spends a night
contemplating the seven tones
Wind's tickling fingers
summon
from a chime once owned
by a Mother dead?

_{(December 15, 2010 @ 04:51)}