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The way has wondered in such a storm of wills where words have lost their meaning and in turn I lost track of your steps in the sand. Your breath blows in some direction I no longer comprehend. I ask, which dwelling bears your dreams of late stormy will, which summer hosts your sun? I've been but a breeze in your fields and yet I stirred forth more than a current, more than a wind, more than a wind... I wonder how these winds blow forth and reach their nest without a flight, I wonder, how useless grips I clench with so much haste and finer findings I embrace but lose in a night. And as tonight I sing the tune of your hair in this mist I recall my promises to sit amidst these woods with you and contemplate for a while the sounds of these larks and geese in flight. I am but a wish, I know but in your dreams as this gravid wind blows I reach your heart as this moonless night flies past your window pregnant of no tune of harp or violin. I reach your heart, I know but bewildered you let go of the thread to mine. Tonight, as you lean against this wall your eyes scream truth you'd sooner withhold than greet what breath I might return, you fool of a man! And hence you leave this mist of day without a glimpse of the rose I laid on the pillar for your return. And hence you yield without winning, you yield from the very beginning, you yield out of your willing. INA 28th May 01 |
| Storm of Wills |
| - to a man of will, whose stormy flight captured my sight - |
| picture : Horse by Bierstadt |