In the wind of ending, cold rage sweeps everything
until there is only waiting, frozen in the blast of it.
Skies fall heavy with winter’s darkness;
all the seasons sleep, sickened to living death.
The hunched bison huddle, their impassive faces
set hard and enduring as storm-front ice.
In the wind of patience, unnumbered hardships pass,
leaving time stretched in its wake, loosened to a sinew.
© BH, 2022
More about the winds…
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