How to Call the Wind

First, find your place,
And look for her there.
Loosen your eyes,
Extend your ears.
Memorize contours —
Her body beneath grass,
Beneath snow.
You must let her in.
And in letting her in,
You also must
Make your way,
Quietly,
Into her sanctuary.

(I dreamed your hands,
Your breath at the back of my neck.
Taste this, now.)

Then you must wait.
And you must wait.
And you must wait for her to speak
Again.
She will stir at last.
She will begin to leave them,
These clues
At the side of the road:
A buck in the willow bed,
Hawk on a high branch,
Circled sun,
The grass
Gone to seed,
And so many words
Whispered.

(Drink, now, love
Deep.
My eyes.)

Slow your steps.
And wait.
You must be willing
To stop —
To wake.
In every turn,
Kneel before her
To worship this —
The flaw.

(I left them there for you,
These clues.
Don’t close the door now,
Love.)

At last you will know
It is time
When you hear them —
The birds will begin
To sing it:
“He sees.”
“He sees.”

(Slowly,
Under the high blind eye,
I made my way
Back to waking.)

Then —
Begin with what is already present,
And work to increase it.
She will come,
At first,
When you whistle.
Then — growing into
Something beyond this —
You will find
She follows.
And you cannot escape
Her embrace,
Her breath.

(I grew afraid,
My friend,
Of sleeping,
Because I did not know
What waking would bring —
The truth?
The lie?
But in the end,
I want you to know,
My belief in this
Never ceased.)

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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