Once, there was a wind, and in its
swirling, spinning path it touched
many things. Trees bent in sway to
the rising gale, flowers bowed by a
passing sigh, leaves pulled from their
rest, to sway and dance in the lifting
wind, high into the moving air, while
trees that before were clad, now are bare.
Stark and naked. as the wind falls, two trees
move to the winds desire, and swaying
catch, and swaying hold, branches linked.
A gateway to nothingness, to which all things
go in time, dust on the wind.