Your reach runs
deep here,
stretches across
worlds,
And the winds whip through my clothes,
grabbing at all the cloaks,
finding warm,
those parts of me unborn
but knowing…
You know you could slam me
against this wall
and I’d only be grateful for the solid flesh crush,
something other than
ethereal surreal
whisperings,
something more than
mere haunts
of visceral beckoning taunting the real raw
of all these edges
rounded and receiving
all these words in wind whispering,
all these words telling our humanity,
refusing more civilized structures,
turning unexpected corners,
relentlessly chasing great big freight trains,
spinning along their
locomotion,
all the way to this here, this now,
all these words on the wind
grabbing at me,
crashing my refusal,
turning my head towards the sun…
towards the knowing within…
J. Ruth Kelly 
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