The east wind  
Driven by the river gorge 
Has no trouble in being found  
For it is the one searching for us 
In a scurry, frantic, indeterminate 
Then, in a moment of thought 
Directed, certain, content.
Much like us.
 
The wind etches the river below it.
An artist’s symmetry, capillary waves 
Hides the river’s speed 
Slowed by the dam above 
From rapids once free, where 
Many have sunk beneath 
Its undertows and swirls. Yet 
Branches, trees, and debris bob 
Appearing happy in its current. 
Death is the happy wader  
Within the sad body 
Who still desires to see the ocean 
Resurfacing upon drifts and beaches 
 
Heading west, this wind
Arrives at valley views 
To play with city & street 
Roaming around the deciduous  
Deciding to spread & sprawl out 
Over fields of strawberries and grapes 
Long past their harvest 
Knocking on our windows 
With the help of rain and sleet 
Peering at us with a shake and rattle 
While we hold our mixtures of 
Sweets & wine, love & despair 
Much like the wind holds fast onto the air.