Let It Blow
This wind is like grief that howls,
then goes silent
as this empty house.
Its will is beyond mine.
Not seen, only heard
howling in my head.
Where is my retreat?
Ear plugs of the heart?
A disappearing act?
The howl may be more welcome than silence.
In the Highlands when the wind blows,
they let it blow.
12/11/10
T.G. Franti
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