a word billowing enough
as inspired by Mary Oliver’s “The Sun”
what say you then of this twisting, turning life?
that no matter how much you
wrangle and cajole and manipulate and control
this life and its mysteries are
beyond any knowing, understanding
no matter what you say
even if you find words billowing enough
they will always fall short
how many poems and paintings and musical scores speak of the sun?
and still yet,
after hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years
no one can definitely describe it
who can see the wind
neither you, nor I —
but when the leaves do blow
the wind is passing by
