The Immobile Wind / Yvor Winters

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.