The Immobile Wind

Blue waves within the stone
Turn like deft wrists interweaving.

Emotion, undulant, alone.
Curled wings flow beyond perceiving.

Swift points of sight,
mystic and amorous little hands,
The wind has drunk
as water swallows sifting sands.

The wings of a butterfly
Feel of the wind
Tentatively; as men die
In thought, that have not sinned.
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