Building a House on the Wind

by Christopher Anthony Leibow

Loving her was like trying
to build a house on the wind
with its constantly shifting currents.

This is by no means a judgment
on the properties of air, just
on the wisdom of building a house there.

I thought at first, maybe I could build
a flying machine instead, one that would rise
with the gusts,  surrender to the wind

I could have floated there forever just
to be with her, the loving was, let’s say;
astonishing.

But the grounded angel that I am,
who pawned his wings
so long ago,

and gave up the clouds
and stars to the gods

has already chose earth
over heaven and now aches -
& it is the ache of root

and wood and green that cries out from
the center of me, it’s the flowering
tree in me that hungers for dirt

and sun and rain and rock, that hungers
for a tree home that sings, sings
with bird song and leaf-song, where

the rainbow starts and no one cares
what’s at the other end.

Loving her was like trying
to build a house ion the wind
the currents constatnly changing.

And now I am where I belong

asleep among the braches
my roots holding the earth & kissing
good night to the dead,

asleep under my blanket of moonlight
wind kissed and dreaming

dreaming of flying.

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