"I know that the wind is a woman
And not only because of her seasonal fury
And not only because of her ability to
efficiently arrange air travel
I know that the wind is a woman
Because of the way she envelops me
While remaining unseen
I know she is a she
Because of her work on dunes and drifts
Because of her imprint on mesas and
mountains
Not leaving her mark with an ejaculatory
blast
Blowing her legacy to pieces
But with the caress of hours and millennia
Perhaps making an hourglass shape
That I want to run my hand over
Or at least fall asleep against
Perhaps coaxing the waves to grind the sand
We place inside our hourglasses
To measure our hours
With and without her
She fills the gaps left by our earthquakes
She shaves the severity of our comets
She will penetrate the thickest armor
With her patience
And I know her
Because I hear her voices calling
As if she lives near
in my narrow places
She’s whistling to me
to come outside and see her
Of course she’s not there,
And I am becoming doubtful
That her fingers can carry
me anywhere
That she is even whistling to
me
That I’ll ever get to hold
Anything but her
silhouette"

Robbie Q. Telfer, “Wind” (via pigmenting)

(via lovelikeogkush)