But then I think I see the wind 
as an intention, pressing us 
with weather. All the pieces 
of the air you’ve put together 
somehow know just how to hold 
the rain. They somehow know

to funnel and unfold, to swerve 
the snow, to rake the beaches 
and to slope the arcing seagull’s wings.
As wind inside a shell: they know 
you in themselves. I’ll find you out; 
I can know you as a hint in things.

I do. And through the window
I have known you as an opening.

— Malachi Black, author of Storm Toward Morning

This poem is offered as part of our March theme: Air, Breath, Wind

T.S. Poetry

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