On still nights I can hear

On still nights I can hear
the wind in solitude breathing,
roaming in habitual journey.

It goes through cycles
with murmurs and tantrums.

I remember that in a dimmed sunlight
the wind envelopes my sides.

My scarf and blue ribbon sway at large,
flowing and spreading out, wings
if only I learned to pull at freedom:

To finally become free motion through
bits of particles bowing decisively

into existence

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