GOING WHERE THE WIND BLOWS

They own this piece of land, this soil—rich and deep near the river—thankful to the Earth that gives them gravity and crops. They ask us to lay on the ground with them, flutter like the leaves, staring up at the sky.

Last time we wanted to fly, they said, “The wind is so strong you can hardly stand.”

They listened to the howling all day long—like the wailing of lost souls—and shivered, afraid the wind will lift the roof off the house, afraid they might lose their balance and fall.

You and I stayed with the wind, swayed in the wind. Let it uproot us like trees and take us high, higher than the kites, hoping someday it buries us so deep in its pockets no one will ever be able to find us.