XV

The wind is a wing that flies through the forest.
The shadows of leaves are like blackbird wings.
On the path, I see a hawk feather
And pick it up to examine the distances
Time travels in a season.
I smile inside, as at unspoken poetry.
It is a gift from the wind
For not having turned away from spirit.

XVI

I add a downy woodpecker feather to my totem.
It means I must build my house out of wind.
The days pass like apparitions.
The seasons pass with their shadows.
Every time I find a feather
It is the same moment as the last.