An Entirely New Shade of Beautiful

 

I speak often to the wind.
And though she carries
my words away
she does not answer
my questions
nor offer me
her opinions.
I have had similar results with God,
but when I speak to Him
my words hang from a noose
and go nowhere.

They just swing heavy

from side to side.

I sense the wind as Woman
because her strength
is carried
on perfumed fingers,
which she runs through the leaves
of the tallest trees,
a gentle hand
through a lover's hair.
And though, like God,
I have never seen her,
she has moved in power
before my eyes,
and I know that she is.

I will continue to converse
with the wind, I think,
as she rushes by me
unconcerned
with my trauma and my tears,
as if she does not know
I am here…
…and yet, remember,
she takes my words with her
when she goes.

 

What will she do
with all my tumbled phrases?
Do they pile up
in a dusty corner
unused…
…but perhaps not utterly forgotten.
I wonder,
will she pick one up someday?
And will it make her smile?
I imagine the wind's smile to be
an entirely new shade of beautiful.


I do not imagine God,
or if I do,

I imagine
He is not smiling.

I both long for
and fear
the endless black night
on which she finally
whispers my name.

 

© Scott Varengo