Photo by Christopher Raley

South Wind

Sky was made for signs and for seasons
not smothering haze that frustrates my sight
lower and lower until all I see
is mask on iron, wood smoke, and rails.

I can’t claim I don’t know city ambition
or how we got to street, sidewalk, and road.
Nevertheless, I long for the way west
that narrows as it goes over mountains,

down valleys, and at last to the river
that always runs to clear air and the sea.
Please, call your south wind up the valley.
It is conceived from ocean swells’ salt spray.

It is birthed in lowlands of the delta.
Even now I feel traces of you stirring
as smoke thickens, heat radiates
off concrete, and gray smears healing ‘neath trees.

Branches are suspended like arms, and leaves,
like palms, can worship in a moment.