grass field

I am riding the wind, surveying the damage

of the storm as if I’m a bird caught on the wind

currents handed off like a baton in a relay race

whose finish line gets no closer.  I see I am surveying

my life by wind and breeze, by close to the earth,

by above the trees in an instant of time and the perspective

changes.  The damage and what’s left untouched immense.

The reasons for both unknown, the causality for each 

equation unfinished on a blackboard.

This flight is hardly god-like though it suggests an 

omnipresent point-of-view.  I remind myself I am human

regardless of what I see, what I surmise has happened,

what dreams may still come to me.  What I need are nights

of deep sleep; this riding the wind is not as easy 

as it would seem to be.  So often the spirit is broken 

when things are clearly seen.  So often it is made whole.

Hootism:  the world is and is not as it seems.