She can tell, by turns, which way the world blows,
Lips to air, deep breaths, she tastes, she knows,
Lets the Kaver finger hair and loose clothes,
Mistral rushes through her channelled pores.
She nor’westers within stones long risen,
Empower’d by the buffets in between,
Dances there with deities all borne in that scene,
Feels the pressure, coriolis weaned.
She can rise from rivers, balance water,
Atomic weights, compound all they to her,
She’s the breath, the elemental daughter,
Born, released and free forever more.
Crazy sort of lady is the folk lore,
Witch upon the wind and on the moors,
Bathing in the floods of fire and aether,
Shower’d, she of air, she lives and pours
Flesh to life and soul to all around, rotating,
Twirling dervish, live unto the end,
Controls and calms, by turns, all elements about her,
Every waft of current is her friend.
Listen when she speaks through thunder’d prisms
Wrap yourself in bounty born within,
She curls around all feelings, depths and chasms,
Feel her dancing, daughter of the wind.
scottishmomus 