I don’t remember the first time
I ever felt it,
or saw or heard it, but
I know it is there.
I mean I know its here
or at least it was a minute ago.
And before that I saw a picture of it,
evidence that it was there
or here or somewhere.
It was in an art gallery where Mr. Wyeth had
done something or other that
moved me, really moved me although
I don’t know why.
This involved brushing paint on a canvas.
It was a wistful scene but then a few minutes later
I saw another work that some artist had left behind
about a shipwreck, and it looked pretty severe.
So it works both ways.
Don’t know how or when
but I remember too, some poet or his
singing about it, and he said the answer was
blowing in it,
the answer to what I don’t know
maybe how many times must the cannonballs fly
or the winds of war blow or
the winds of change rearrange
everything that is or ever was or ever will be.
A few days ago I was in that windy city
where stuff had happened
long ago, back in the day,
and I remembered
part of what had happened
but I wasn’t sure if it had happened to me
or if I just remembered it from some
news report I saw or some
painting I viewed or collective memory from
and then I remembered that ye must be born
again. The wind blows where it wishes and you hear
the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from
and where it is going; so is everyone who is born
of the Spirit
and that’s enough for me.
You feel it?
I’m not making this up.