‘I’d like to lean into the wind
And tell myself I’m free’. Townes van zandt
The off white page waits like un-
marked snow. The white carrier
bag blows onto the fence held like glue.
The wind inhales and lets it fall
and go its way, the winds way.
This is my footprint of poetry or
in my case my footplate. The wind
contorts this pen to scribble or scrawl
these words and like the white bag
I’m as free as the wind wants me to be.
