A thousand winds with hands descended from
purple blue skies
bending heads of slumbered wheat into
waves of yellow oceans.
The aroma of a distant heaven
surrounds me, the vulnerable self,
as the earth moves beneath me.
I am a speck of sand,
a feather lifted every morning as I first
breathe in day.
It’s from this place that I see the end,
touching it cautiously with curious fingers
as it beckons me in.
Roger Singer 