Trees bend and strike
my favourite leaf-tune. Reeds bow like medieval peasants
and send off feathery heralds
Charged with messages yet to be deciphered.
When a breeze strikes your face, let go. No shelter is known
against the wisdom of destruction,
when the virtues of the torpid
come unfisted. I am the enemy
of the indolent, the static, an ecstatic
foe of the dormant. Strive
to harness my powers but know better. Cognizant
of only one defeat I am – mountains,
Only mountains know the way to face me.