today the white rain curtain
moves in the opposite direction
the large empty black place
in my soul seems
larger as the year turns
and winter approaches

the wind pushes all the trees
about as it drives the rain
before it, north east to
south west, a lone bird
rushes across the sky

I hear on the radio that they
are killing the golden eagles:
rage and utter contempt
I feel
for those abhorrent people.
The purple mint nods

I head south today
my own winds drive me
fill my sails to take a

last trip to far places
before the weather holds me here.
Down there the snow will cover
the grass, holding her fast in its cold.

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