Wind

2 0 00

Wind

Touch our bodies, wind.

Our bodies are separate individual things.

Touch our bodies, wind,

But blow quickly

Through the red, white, yellow skins

Of our bodies

To the terrible snarl,

Not mine,

Not yours,

Not hers,

But all one snarl of souls.

Blow quickly, wind,

Before we run back into the windlessness⁠—

With our bodies⁠—

Into the windlessness

Of our house in Taos.