As you close your eyes, listen to the wind.
Imagination unfurls, takes flight, winged.
The mode of transportation is your mind;
Soar across green fields, the top of trees skimmed.
Stand at ocean’s edge, as the currents rhymed.
Waves grind against the sand; the wind is kind –
In that if I close my eyes, the contract’s signed.
I wait by the temple door, sound is thinned.
My vessel’s tenuous; I’m almost blind.
The wind is sentient, mischievous friend.