wind is not your friend,
it is an annoying acquaintance
who comes and goes, swirling,
changing direction like--
well, you know
no one is elated with more
wind than needed, just as no one
wants all of the earth or too much fire
it’s like having too many personal
items in a small room, causing havoc
in trying to return everything
to its proper place
wind always greets you
at the wrong times, disturbing
the reading of the news,
or a family picnic, or when
whispering secrets to a lover
wind can be evil on a winter day, chapping
bare hands, chaffing cheeks of children,
or not leaving when it’s supposed
to leave, like an unwanted dinner guest
still huffing at midnight
people tear in wind at funerals, lesser
saplings are loosened, bending their dark
shapes over cold water, loosening their roots,
scattering their leaves like so many
love letters of soldiers, promising
a return in the spring
wind is the hardest lesson--
learning to let go of something
that cannot firmly be grasped
After reading it again and again, maybe the use of an unfinished metaphor works.
Maybe it brings us directly into the poem, like talking to an old freind about something they ahve in common for many years (and we all know "wind.") by saying, "well, you know," and the friend slightly nods their head.
...my thoughts are in the poem. That's why I wrote it. I didn't like it (referred to line) at first either, but I always post first draft. I do tinker with line breaks sometimes. In fact, I agonize over line breaks.
I golf. Taking a different club at the last second invites disaster so I always play my first choice, sometimes against better judgement. If my original choice doesn't work, I will remember that second choice when its time comes up again (re-write). The fact a few re-reads brought you around to perhaps keeping that line, lends me to believe I should keep it.
You can't believe how much I appreciate your comments. Thank you.