the wind is a ghost outside
seeking sanctuary inside the bodies of
the branches the leaves the lacy shreds
of plastic bag
to become for this moment
a ghost cloaked in refuse
leaning against the grills of cars
pressing with so many hands
against the head and shoulders
of the patient man on the bike
riding against wave after wave
the leaf litter rolling up the street
at the end of this short day
at the end of this long year
each bit giving itself up
as it lends the wind
its long-sought body
from here i see
each particle lifted up
and held
aloft and carried
away into
everywhere allaround
the only living thing
on this earth
is change
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