Dropping Hearts in the Wind
always we'd listen for the sound of land- scape. you with an eye for tree lines, and i with an ear for fields. we'd note which birds claimed space between us, and the final layer of blue sky. purely by their wings, and our watching, the distances were untied between us, and the heart of the wind. from the earth's origin from the sky's seam, through rough and restless crowds of long summer grasses and the endless sway of pines moving deep into the woods, it beats. here, sitting on this bare rock, the wind's pulse rebounds. its echo in our ear tracks every blade of grass, and swaying tree that tuned it; and every falter for which we've casually been martyred are sage notes blown on beyond this heart's drop.