Chrysalis

our dance

The wind and I dance
sometimes slow
sometimes as if
he is howling to be understood.

Sometimes I scream like that too
as if I too spoke another tongue
that very few understood
Desperately hoping the words that overflow from my lips
Will too be carried by his wind
into the yard of another soul
Who sits so still
Listening
To his howl whip concrete walls
so straight and sharp
that I can't help but wince
Waiting, hoping, fearing
that we may break something that has stood
for many, many years

So that the next time I scream,
And he howls,
And they listen,
The high trees and low shrubs
Can whisper tingling gratitude through our ears,
and into our bodies
Where, finally
the noise may arrive at peace in our heart.