Course X

Don’t tell us you don’t have a sense
Of how long wind goes on. It’s air,

Or, to be more strict, waves of air,
But, if you’ve lived on a bare plain,

Or in the cracks of high-walled towns,
On the streets, in the fields, on coasts,

By lakes, or in the last deep woods—
Look, we just don’t want you to feel

Left out of this—you’ve known the wind.
You’ve heard it, cursed it, felt it push.

You’ve known the wind in your own way.
So. Now we ask you to think back.

What was that you felt? What’s the wind?
If wind’s been felt by all of you,

Could it be that’s one thing you share?
It might seem so, but then, it’s not

The same wind, is it, in your ears
On your skin, no more than for trees

The howl drawn out of one’s the same
Sound drawn from all the woods at once.

Once the wind hits you, you turn it,
Twist it, just a bit, shape its waves.

Now what is it? What it’s been, what
Hit you then, what you made of it?

You might stir. A fat drop of rain
Blown on the wind might hit the waves

Of a deep lake, waves that were spun
From the large, weak waves of the air

To the tight, white waves of black lakes.
What’s all this, then? Don’t just stop there.

If you can’t solve this, you’ll still merge.
You can’t pause, a drop in the air.

Some kinds of waves we’ll call the wind.
Some we’ll call what blew through. You, then.