I live even now

in an archeological way.

Wendy Rose

It was bunk

that conversation I just had with the wind about having

just now pulled the rug out from under me and

all and blaming it on Uranus

or Pluto or Saturn.

 the filaments have become tangled and

 frail . susceptible.

So I get slapped with a retort by the sea after all that

grumbling

in a diatribe of white caps and sea foam terrorizing the

already

frightened salmon & kelp clinging to the cliffs.

…”everything must change

whether you like it or not ….I will turn you in to a kite the shape of a star piñata

No grinding stone or sarcophagus will redeem you and and and you will love me, says the wind, you will love me and my swish swoosh  my incessant having to be right my meandering and fickle affections my tempestuousness my garrulous temperment…”

I take hold of the Raven’s wings bandage my feet in gauze soaked in the oils of myrrh&patchouli  take flight once again  hoping the next fall will be more gentle than the last.