Wind

by Ada Habip

Sometimes, when you’re especially poised, I feel you just about to
break in my wall, the one with all the windows and mirrors,
shattering my room while your silent clutter sweeps me within; I
resist.
But I can resist you only as long as I can sleep.
It is only then, when my mind cannot recognize friends from foes,
that you rush in through my eyes and take me to the ones of your
storm.
We land on the coasts of Assos and I feel your grasp ease as curtains
draw back from the sun for the first time since last summer.
Conversation and too many rounds of tea carry us through the day;
We listen to grandpa telling the story of when he first lay eyes on
grandma, she blushes and tries to hide,
But only you are the master of the art.
And so, just as I feel you drifting away, you engulf me once again
and we are in the battlefields of Troy.
I race for shelter,
perhaps as Achilles and Patroclus did to each other,
but with every stride forward, your gust booms in my ears more and
more.
Never before have I been so tightly held in havoc.
Even for you, there is a time for rest. I latch onto your wings as we
make our way home;
Your gale subsides and I find darkness once again.
Wind,
For all your chaos,
Your eye is my eye.
Your gust is my soul.