The Wind’s Invitation

My eyes creak open.

Sweat-soaked, sitting stale

The room is my own image,

A tangled mass, 

trash and scattered wrappers

Trapped -- my stifling abode.

A breeze occasionally passes 

Welcome, the window wide

Its perfection stands aside

From this space where I abide.

The wind is perfect. 

Advancing forever forward, full

Presence develops from absence,

Pressure here, pressure there

One day, bearing farewell

It will decide 

For me to join it on its ride

Through its restless, wandering song

I belong.