Poem: WIND

for G.K. Chesterton

The child in my arms
watches wind
stir leaves & draperies
He’s learning what is real

He’s no language
for breeze --or breath --or spirit
This nebulous trembling
hasn’t crept as close as other familiar movements
a wagging pendulum --or the tumble
of his mother’s hair towards him

We learn wind is just wind through naming wind
We speak of wind --as our parents
& their parents --spoke of wind
Although this wild & startling world
won’t explain itself --the dust returns
to its consistent settling after every storm

The child in my arms
watches --& wants to understand
Although there’s more than he’ll know
he’s learning to be at home here

(This poem first appeared in Rock & Sling)