You have not changed.
And winds that bore you from me
like sails of neon men-of-war, full-thrust
against past tides of cities, lit with efflorescent lens
of dew and myriads of time-shined spores
have kept you -
I, the wind-maker.
You have not changed.
And I, the firefly and moth
of constant dreams and surging sands,these fluxing tides
of shifting in the glow of ancient keeps, built high
on wave-strewn coastlines, gusting with the banshee scream
have kept you -
I, the wind maker.
You have not changed.
And clouds that bore you in me
light as dusk on distant forms of stream-swept jade
sweeping past sweet banks on polished sleds of glass
fresh-cut from Chartres’ ancient rose
have kept you -
I, the born-on-wind.
You have not changed.
And youthful blooms of forest depths
lie swimming in the galaxies of starfish, lighting with their fires
the phoenix of never-ashing keep, fanned high
by winds that bore you to me
sails that kept you -
You, the wind-rider.
Brad Drew © 1976 London