Now into the cold rain-laced wind
letting fall on my ragged coat
what comes - rain, snow, 
needles of pine, rare sun splash.
Barely do I feel these gifts
swathed am I in layers of wool and down.

In the still shadowy silver days 
a gloaming presence unfurls, held
in the thin veil of drizzle and chill fog -
ghostly luminous, humming wind songs.

I think to myself, "The Spirit?"  
An electric and vinyl turn playing
tunes and lyrics from other worlds
on my own worn and plastic hide?

I, inside of my usual and ordinary life,
hear, within the swirls of the winter-swept
leaf-laden lonely and lovely air
songs I do not know but wish to learn.
 _________________________________________________________
Portland, Oregon - January 11, 2022