if i were a wind,
     i imagine that after awhile
               (having grown tired of
the ins and outs of
     daily wind life), i’d
               spend my afternoons
doing little boy things instead.

     The first thing i’d do
               is crawl up into the
bark-covered cradle of that
     old, withered tree just
               around the corner (the
one that looks like a hand
     reaching up out of the dirt)
               and liberate all of my
squirrel brothers and sisters
     from the smoldering inferno
               of their cherry blossom
prison! Then, exhausted, i’d
     stop by my mom’s sister’s
               place. She won’t have
any kids of her own, but she’ll think
     that if i eat enough
               of her rhubarb pie
i’ll get so fat that it’ll be
     kind of like having
               two kids. Then, i’d
sneak up into the attic
     (where Todd once said
               he saw a live bat, but
i’ll bet he was lying),
     and flip through the pages
               of photo albums
from back when they
     didn’t even have any
               color and i’d
make up stories about
     bank robbers and girls
               and windless days
where the heat curled
     itself up in the dust &
               slept for years on end.
 
sadly, i’m not a wind.
     i’m just a little boy, and
               so i spend my afternoons
high above the clouds,
     gathering up the sun and
               fashioning the storms
that will split this world in two