More To Do

I think I should become wind again,

wild again, 

elemental again,

bending everything,

clanging my bells 

to my howling gusts and bluster.

I could be impudent in an

already precocious sky,

with all the forces seen and unseen,

wrestling clouds to churn into 

and out of each other.

I would blow Virga sideways.

It’ll disappear before it hits the ground,

but the air will smell of rain.

What fills the heart cannot be explained.

Wrestling clouds may be futile. 

Do it anyway.

Still, there is more to do

and places to go.

I won’t be a piddling thing.

From: Getting There

Unpub. MS p.6