I saw a gale of gusting wind
Kick at the trees with a hungry spin,
Sending leaves into the air,
Ember spirals, festive fair.
My soul, it spun 'bout with those chains
Of brown and rusty leaf decay.
And as I felt myself unravel,
Amid the maelstrom of my travels
I fell down into the ground
And hugged the musk of earth and brown.
My fingers dug into the land
Clumps departed in my hand.
And my eyes leaked down, mixing mud,
Spit thickening green with unwanted cud.
My life! I say! It could not weigh
As much as pushed me in the clay!
My shoulders sagging, breaking part,
With my body, oh mournful Hark!
Of me! Buried by a slow decay:
Waves of sorrow, worry, clay!
But I rebelled against that Hell
Of the brutal, overbearing swell.
And I was lifted from my tomb,
Lifted from my child's womb
Drifting away, a weightless chain
Unbound: a form the wind could sway.
And I glimpsed at the ghosting of my hands
Humbly fading into sand.