Where does the wind go?
Where does the wind go?
From my lips, exhaled and pure
to the canyons of red rock and cliff.
Does it find me again?
Does it love to fill my lungs with life?
Or does it join the other side
and knock it out of me on my final step?
Where, oh where does the wind go?
On its voyage from floral fingers,
through brooks and evils that suck it raw.
Maybe it goes away, disappears into us.
Its weight slowly gathers in our thoughts,
bringing us down closer to the earth.
Where we finally let it go
in our dying breath
and back again
to push the dust that was once us
into the eyes and lungs of a young boy.
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