and yet

the wind wishes us to make sense of the way we move through it

for instance, within this room

there should be no corners for dirt to escape the broom

dust clouds should constantly try to grab a spinning world

that wind out there, through which it pulls, pushes and forms

is consistent in its effort of impossible things to pile

makes no sense at all

and yet

keeps whistling

© Gerry Mattia 2024
© “Patio Poetry” 2000 - 2024