Just wind, just wind.
translucent stratus-spotted sky
reflected in the wrong way white caps
of the mighty Columbia.
Just wind, just wind,
clean scentless rushing in
through the pores, flushing out
the debris of fires, Covid and elections.
Just wind, mighty tropical storm force wind
with no rain, no blowing dirt, just sky
blowing through the indian paintbrush
who dance like octopus arms in play.
Just wind, powerful unthreatening wind
knocking me to the ground
tumbling over me like boulders landsliding
breaking the bones of habituated thoughts.
Just wind, relentless wind
beach grass laughing in terror
like children on a rollercoaster
“Again, again again!”
Just wind, my wind, I want to own it
to name it for me, to be it;
unaided, unabetted, unapologetic
known, remembered, and forgotten in the same instant.
Just wind, sky chariot carrying me
Lifting me out of absorbed selfness
shattering shackles of the three times
unforming, unregressing, uncreating, unending.
Sometimes the River surprises
In the middle of the spike of a summer day
That is baking the emergent flat boulders
When it sends a soft, mossy breath of cool affection.
Sometimes it rattles the visual perception
Out of its habitual normalcy
Shaking loose blind focus
Opening an expansive circumspherical view.
Sometimes it dulls its persistent, insistent growl
Fighting with itself to reach the sea
Crafting its personality in the remnants of mountains
Leaving space for something old that is new now.
Sometimes the lasering sun reflections that burn the retinas
And leave permanent and shadow impressions;
That obscure simple seeing with winceful pain,
Offer an easeful invitation to penetrate assumptions about the nature.
Sometimes in the quietest of the middle evening pitch,
Where the rapid roar becomes a drone
And the accompanists of all beings rest,
It trembles the bones through the tympanic bank and shore leaving me undone.
Sometimes the River