i was told the wind would tell me my name
that could not be spoken, so came the breeze
with secrets undeciphered through the trees
that one autumn of unheard of refrain.

but ever since that labyrinth opening
the walls have been moving and the winter
of eclipsed understanding will linger.
how briefly light comes, when you think of it—

what more could you need to transfigure a place?
the wind is coming from somewhere remarkably
far off to dance just a little with the curtain;

spring and it came all this way to caress a face.
we come from mystery and go back to mystery
and this alone we can say for certain.