When the air, thick
as a towel, wraps around
just-washed hair
When the wind makes
myths you don’t
want to follow
When the days
drop their quota
of dailiness
and you want
every thought
to be a cleaver
In response to thus: The wind wraps a thick-corded hand.
yet some cherish the dailyness of days, brush their hair in open air and allow the thoughts to concert
bold quiet,as the wind that hurls takes them away …….