Spinning On My Windmill

 

 

my feet grip wind

pushing silver

blading through the air

and spiralling a curtain of liquid thought

a slick coating

of

perpetual motion

and now I am hanging

upside down

and the colour is dripping

my fingers touch earth

and so

I fertilise my story

and sigh deep into the depths of dark wheat

contained in this body

of  abrasive action

and

spinning light