Offshore wind
Sprints and skims
Over the water’s edge
As if it were a sea-green tarmac
Taking flight into the Adriatic
Pulsating in ripples
Striding into the horizon
Never drawing breath to look back
Unperturbed by the unpromising stratus ahead
For that formless mass shifts too
Waning before my fixated gaze
Herded along by the wind himself
A southerly fellow
Set about to interrupt the haze
This wind does not howl
He bellows deep
He swells a mood
As a baritone horn finds its tune
Fallen autumn leaves pirouette skywards
Swept up by the choir
The hairs on my head windblown
Awakened with regained purpose
Heralding balance soon to be restored
A sunset is happening back there
Obscured by Poseidon’s petulant ire
I’ll bear witness to it soon
If not now, well when time is due
A cerise halo on horizon peeps through
A beacon from Helios to say
He and his sunlit chariot
Are on the move
The tarmac is ready
Calling for lift off
Over yearning
Windblown
Cerulean
Hues
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