Amid the morning sunshine,
a cloud appears and as it blocks the loving rays
of Sol, its brother, the western wind comes
to me, brushing my shoulders in cattail sensation,
it gives me bumps, such is the eerie feeling,
of being touched by non-human hands.
He is the friend I have made in the wilderness,
he has come to teach me his ways, he says,
in the words of the breeze, his touch is chilling
not in winter icy type but rather in summer hot relief.
I welcome him in terms of my soul's smile
and I listen this day.
©Frank Coughlin May 2011
a cloud appears and as it blocks the loving rays
of Sol, its brother, the western wind comes
to me, brushing my shoulders in cattail sensation,
it gives me bumps, such is the eerie feeling,
of being touched by non-human hands.
He is the friend I have made in the wilderness,
he has come to teach me his ways, he says,
in the words of the breeze, his touch is chilling
not in winter icy type but rather in summer hot relief.
I welcome him in terms of my soul's smile
and I listen this day.
©Frank Coughlin May 2011
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