On occasion Air lets me through
and birds shake their feathers with
indifference. A nod of the head
will do for now. They see the flutter
of a lost soul and mistake me for
a neighbor they once had who fell
into Wind and falls to this day.

Some clouds say she rides the
mountain goats to the peak to
say hello. Others say they carry
her as dust when its warm and
let her cool down into snowflakes
so she may return to the drift. And
maybe someday reach eternity.

When you walk sometimes the
strangers ahead move in the same
place, waiting patiently. Wonder
where they’re falling, whether they
ever touch ground. A little shove
from Wind sweeps minutes out of
my eyes as we pass on our way.