the day

The seventh of May
The sky is rippled
Potato chip clouds
Proud soldiers marching
Forward
The wind surges, stretches
Careening from tree top to
Tree top
Singing, breathing singing
..........breathing
Moving my hair
Sneaking under my clothes
An over eager lover
Raising bumps on my skin
As one of those might,
Just might
Gusts barrel through
Flattening the flames of
My carefully tended fire
It feeds the flames
They grow
Lean
Arc
Crash down on themselves
In the whirling current of air
They panic, ducking
For cover, bumping
Into and off of one another
Like frenzied housewives
Searching for the blue
Light special.