The eye of
most things tells
the greatest truth 
of storm of 
face and needle 
for to pass
through any of 
them means to 
have already gone 
through the tempest
and once inside 
of the eye 
you know what 
is coming next 
to free yourself 
from its torrent 
having already done 

I call the
wind my home 
no roots no 
anchors just ghost 
catch a scent 
a bit of 
wind some wee
and then off
I go to 
who knows where
some say running 
I say free
and with each
and every step 
I disappear more 
become just one 
of so many 
a leaf a
snowflake a
raindrop a memory 

It does 
so early 
awaken me
peeps and 
then creeps
seeing if
and not 
maybe so
making this 
hide and 
seek of
celestial orbs
but two 
heavenly bodies 
side by
side laying 

What broke me 
one might ask 
surely I did
but the fake 
bandages of broken 
promises meant to
soothe and set
my broken bones 
certainly didn’t help 
but now I 
healed and certain 
leave this place 
this infirmary where 
experts knowing nothing 
but quack augur
cajole not convince 

We are each
of us little 
more than colanders
full of holes 
meant to drain 
even the stubbornest 
run we do 
into the arms
of another sieve 
thinking that they
will somehow hold 
but the only 
time that’s possible 
is when holes
will hopefully complement 
and not align
if they do 
they’ll flee too