And where to begin, we cast
tattered clothes to the wind
we pass
a world without compulsion
enter the portals again
we cast upon the wind
over the sea
Bells blowing in the trees
wordless notes of ease
of poetry
homing
we travel these wastes and gardens
to the door in the greenery
birds fly cawing.
We laugh as water laughs
its way down the rock into the sea.
We cast into the deep
and take with us what we can carry:
(trinkets
light objects from various markets
a feather
part of one wool blanket
scraps only)
words mostly
these!
nothing -
tattered clothes
and the wind.
(C) 1980-2019 by W.G. Milne
