About the wind

They often stop at four winds.

I don’t know who “they” are

or why they stick to cardinal directions

but I have felt at least twelve

whipping at me on my hill.

The wind cries. Sometimes it’s “Mary”

and sometimes it howls or begs or

just presses right through you

like a ghost chilling your bones.

Some people chase wind for a living

while some hoard metaphors about it

like acorns to last the winter.

I like to sing with it. It’s always harmonious

and one of my best friends.