the wind thief

he built his trap
from ground
into the air

baited it
in the shape
of a cross
released to spin
at the first soft touch
of the first
passing kiss

the shaft
thrums a song
of crunch
and of its own turning

he watches
adjusting angles
freeing movement
until the turn
is right

he pours
his wheat in

and around
the shaft .
thrums a song
of the crunch of wheat
and the turning

the wind does not notice
after all
is a little less air
when you blow through the sky
without concern

so he steals
from the breeze
enough puff
to turn

for the grind
of his flour


Poem #535 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

7 thoughts on “the wind thief

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