As the Wind Bends

As the wind bends
the poet’s mouth
into saying things she does not mean,
promises she cannot keep.
The road she wanders down is steep.

As my breath
escapes my mouth
and a puff is seen,
only by the grit of the cold,
let my breath be.

As the stream
is dried,
and your dream confines in you,
your time is almost due,
hurry through, hurry through.

As the wind bends
the sun into my eyes,
I may as well be walking blind.

The poet’s mouth must hurry up,
and say what must be said.
The poet’s mouth must,
shut itself
before we all drown in her words.