Dropping Hearts in the Wind

always we'd listen
for the sound of land-
you with an eye for tree
and i 
with an ear for fields.

we'd note
which birds claimed space
between us,
and the final layer
of blue sky.

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
of long summer grasses
and the endless sway of pines 
moving deep into the woods,
it beats.

sitting on this bare rock,
the wind's pulse
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.

Steven Reid