Wind

Brooke Soulsby

and the trees roar with it
bashing together at the mercy of one another,
or seemingly so
frenzied by composition, their composer unseen

and we lower to the hillside, stomachs flush
against the invisible tide, and the

moving of each blade of grass
and each perfect bound leaf

       swiftly and deftly in the left direction
       as if to turn time backwards, in 

orchestrations of risings and fallings
of light cotton on skin; billowing
of braided cornsilk strands, willed all away from restraint

and everything is wild and unkempt, if only in flashes
and all is complicit.

Read next