The Listener 02/10/93

When I listen to the wind
The cold and icy wind
When I catch the frozen oak
In the corner of my eye
What springs to mind
Is not
The sound of sadness
Or the bite of bitter rage
Nor the desperation
Of a lover
Swaying, saying mantras
Repeat my name in senseless vain

When I listen to the wind
That cold and icy wind
When my cheeks are rough with cold
In the corner of the landscape
On a par with all the rest
What falls from my lips
Is not a stab
At warmth or joy
Nor a drowning plea for help
Spraying ice cubes from my throat
That won't melt in summer rain

Be it warm or icy cold
When I hear a whistling wind
I know it turns the vane
When the wind goes in my ear
As I sit here on this plain
Getting colder as I drain and slip away
Within the wind