A Nod to the Wind
A breeze gently caressing the face
Of a man who knows no better
A single molecule, of air, and life
Enters into the lung, and out
Without a hint of indifference
Not one glance to the stars
As if to ask about our mere existence
How can we not see?
When so much exists to prove
What we determine as the immaterial
The same breeze patterns a long cluster of hairs
Standing up and taking notice
Like the goose-bumps that appear
When someone close blows
A small gentle breath in our direction
The breath of God smacks your face
With a warm wet kiss of salt water
And a cool night air that seems
A perfect complement to the patterned sky above
Still, “no proof exists”
At least, that is what we say when faced
With something greater than ourselves
And yet, everything that exists
Is in so much more control than we
So watch the birds as they flock
And the bear as he hunts
Or the seasons change
In perfect harmony with the needs of its bearer
And the breeze; ask it to stop
Tell it to listen to you
Make it understand you
When you say you have no proof
Just don’t be afraid
When you’re faced with the truth
By Brian Dufala
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Tags: Poetry
