When the Wind Does Not Rest

poem

phantoms                  shake

the wind chimes senseless,
one glass panicking like a bird
but             the              bamboo:

hollow              clatter

                   of                   bones

Wind,
           do you
                          sleep anymore?

Or has illness
made you restless, are the neighbors too noisy with our stabbing lights, the growling engines of suffering, burning holes into your scarves, beating our housemates into submission or death.

Please.
                  Rest.

We   will   move   on,
           soon enough,

Leaving just the instruments we made
                     to grasp
what beauty

you do.