What is this breeze that blows them all away:

On misty mornings, bags on knees, crowded

Into tiny cars, down empty lanes, then

On to motorways of crawling beetles?

 

What is this breeze that blows them all away:

Into fields of sleeping cars and through the

Vague precision of all those strangers on

Their quests for anonymity elsewhere?

 

What is this breeze that blows them all away:

Outside again, across the skies to land

In someone else’s yard and sink and sleep

To nourish someone else’s dreams with rest?

 

 

Written whilst listening to Rene Aubry’s song “Le Vent” –

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