I’m looking for
The wind something
Invisible that moves
Something stormy something
Chilling and something
Still I’m looking
For the wind
For my kite
Lifting lifting lifting
Me up to
Fly dodging about
In the sky
I’m looking for
The breeze on
Hot summer days
A friend that’s
With me always
This morning’s air
Hangs heavy and
Damp like the
Air in my
Mom’s kitchen when
She’s cooking filled
With the aromas
Of damp pine
And wet grass
Low sun bathes
Tall trees in
Yellow like creamy
Oozing eclair filling
While steam dances
Against my nose
From hot coffee
Like breath on
Cold winter days
Can a bird
Sing when flying
Or does it
Sit silent while
Wandering much like
You I wonder
Do you sing
Songs of me
When you’re fleeing
Or are your
Words only spoken
When you return
And awakened they
Did past lovers
Of mine like
Hatchlings on some
Far off branch
Chirping and cackling
Their good mornings
It made my
Heart sing like
A harpsichord playing
A light minuet
As I sipped
The champagne of
This glorious morn
It came then
Something warm and
Bright something from
The East a
Surprise while hoped
For the sunrise
Of your words
To me crackling
Like eggs frying
Like gleeful children
Waving at parents
Two simply simple
Words good morning
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 