In hollow window
wanders
a whirling wind-
Oh, it wishes,
whistles,
whispers in
flute-like iron
pipes,
panes of glass,
patches of grass,
pigeons.
Quiet lanes quiver
as it blushes through.
Questing
for warm words.
A blow; a bent body
of melodious clarity.
A blow; a bent body
of melodious clarity.
THOMAS RIVET
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