A Brickfielder

This is how the wind works.

It sends the locks to doubt.
It blows gulls out of oceans.
It lights fire’s gametes.
It seeks vengeance without remorse.
It tickles the gutters.
It questions locks.
It churns out nooks and crannies.
It turns the sky into a grizzly.
It is the nomad of dark ages.
It is the least visible seen thing.
It blows then it blows less.
It comes from somewhere and goes everywhere.
It is the air it is the scourge of bad captains.
It was not where east met west.
It drove salt empires out of gaunt sands.
It is canvas roaring as men are whipped for living.
It is maths off the leash at last.

This is how the wind works hard.

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