It’s back, as if I get another chance, this
coursing wind, ripping leaves, swaying
limbs as if a seizure, striving
to have its way. Like being given
another chance to get it right,
because you regret what you did before,
all that debris left dangling,
the jagged ends, unfinished, not knowing
what words you could have said
that would, for that time, bring understanding
if understanding is the right word,
I don’t know. Sometimes the past
gives lessons about myself. Other times
the past hovers like a dream. There’s a sound
love grass makes when swaying in wind,
a moaning, when all it can do
is what it does, reaching to sky,
sending roots into poor soil, tries to hold.
It’s true the will courses for a time.
It’s true that parting is part.
