THE CHANGING WIND
Now there are great numbers of people
coming and going with the wind,
and the wind seems changed;
its voice is never still
and its eyes are strange.
Once, we remember, it was possible
for the wind to move on two feet
and formulate a philosophy
of life and death by reason
of environment.
Then the wind that blew around us
was a familiar one;
we knew which side of the house was open
and what grew from our hand
each season of the year.
When it was far, we could gaze
beyond mountains, across seas,
over days and miles of distances
to twisted deserts and vast plains,
bridging there with here.
Wind voyageurs, we knew
what a man puts into his mouth
he eats, where he lays his head
is shelter, that the clothing
he wears, covers him.
Then we had no illusions
about customs or differences,
since the wind was the same wind,
whether it came from the north, the south,
the east, or the west.
Time was a place, we remember,
where the wind was able
to look a man in the face
and remain long enough to hear
what he had to say.
Now there are great numbers of people
coming and going with the wind,
and the wind seems changed;
its voice is never still
and its eyes are strange.