Autumn Wind
The autumn wind has never found its shapes.
October sends it through the yellow leaves,
The orange ones and the red ones. Wind escapes,
Not ceding any clue. Each leaf receives
A hint about the contours of the wind
But does not understand enough to grasp
It. Red especially is clueless, pinned
To brilliance as it is. The leaves each gasp
Near silently as they are swept through. Sly
The wind goes stroking in them, but its touch
Of each one is so blue, just like the sky
Above it, that its curve evades their clutch.
So wind is not just crisp in failing to
Conceive its form. Wind lacks an autumn hue.
~ Phillip Whidden