A feather stick makes wind
over the ripples of the keyboard

dust whirling up and down
from the swaying

Again and again a run-up
And the light beaming through



The storm plays with the beach
it winnows, just toss it, and toss it

Sand ripples along the sea
The horn of a late guest

Last notes, last gusts
the wind lies down on the edge

of the old sea
and the new land