If wind people were the world you could never be sure where

any of us might go or what any of us might do. We could be

faithful and fickle, at loose ends or tight as a snare drum.

One moment we'd be here and the next dashing over there.

Tendering blessed relief from the heat of a summer night.

Skittering hats down the street and blowing hair asunder.

Scattering pollen and ripping houses from their foundations.

There is no tying down the wind with rope or chain or tackle.

If wind people were the world, we would fly in constant flux

in whatever direction we chose. Severe and generous as gods.