These winds of restoration
Rise above the rocks of prominence
And drift down the valleys of the Rockies
Like the gentle Chinook in early summer.

These winds herald the coming of the cold,
But in my heart they drift warm
Like shallow waters that carry the sun
To the shadowed inlets of
Hidden rivers.

I will let you in
Breath of rushing things that ends and then in reckless flurries,
Begins again.
I will throw my head back
With my mouth open wide
And I will draw you down to the hollows of my bones
Where you can find the marrow
Of my soul
And carry from it the bitter dusts of regret.

I don’t want them anymore.
I have walked with these sands heavy in my core for too long
And I am done.
I ask these winds to restore this weathered ground to something more;
This wasteland is dying.
Let these winds lift the surface and expose the verdant roots within.