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She is alive,


a crisp, conscious force

hurtling through

      the sky

I see an outline of a


behind the invisible gusts of air,

as though she swipes and claws

      at foes

then crouches back in retreat.

You might simply see

what you’ve always seen

The whooshing swirls pushing past

     and through

and all around.

     brushing and rushing in your hair

You might see a spirit,

     twisting and tapping

     and dancing,

running and expanding like fallen liquid

     Cascading silkily from above.

Wind lives.

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