Each is the wind I like the best

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He shouts in the sails of the ships at sea,
He steals the down from the honeybee,
He makes the forest trees rustle and sing
He twirls my kite till it breaks its string.
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
He calls up the fog and hides the hills,
He whirls the wings of the great windmills,
The weathercocks love him and turn to discover
His whereabouts — but he’s gone, the rover!
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
The pine trees toss him their cones with glee
Air Purifier
,
The flowers bend low in courtesy,
Each wave flings up a shower of pearls,
The flag in front of the school unfurlshair care products
.
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,

Just so long and long enough

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as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long nuskin hong kong
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung nu skin hk

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
-long enough and just so long nuskin hong kong

tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
-time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you

Douglas Goetsch

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Walking a Labyrinth

Eleanor, who is driving

me to the Atlantic

City bus station,

asks if I wouldn’t

mind stopping

at a labyrinth

in Longport she hates

to pass. Outside of

mythology, or The Shining,

all I know of labyrinths

is that you’re supposed pola white shot

to walk them, slowly.

This one is painted:

white lines

on green asphalt.

Feel yourself emptying,

she tells me

as we meander in,

the countless switch-backs

relieved by long arcs

that deliver us

into new quadrants.

An Hispanic woman

and two little boys

have joined us, but

the boys soon lose

patience, and cut to

the circle in the middle,

where they shove one another

like sumo wrestlers.

When we arrive, I’m not

sure if I’ve accomplished

anything. I look over

at the Church of the Redeemer,

which is closed, feeling

quietly mocked.

On the way out, Eleanor

tells me, you’re supposed

to fill yourself with aspirations,

things you want in your life.

That strikes me

as a little greedy —

though I would like

to make my bus.

Eleanor would like

her Bahá’í divorce

to be over with,

the year of living alone

and dating nobody

but her husband.

It becomes hypnotic,

retracing the turns,

the painted lanes…

I look up

and see my mother,

whom I haven’t

seen in years,

treading innocently

as anyone

while walking a labyrinth,

or folding laundry,

or driving a child

to the doctor.

You could try

to figure it out,

the pattern of it all,

But it might

be better just

to walk it, slowly.