Wind in the Walls

In this room, with silence on,

it seems like there’s wind in the walls.  

I can hear it, like I hear computers,

the buzz of electricity.  And this wind, whooshing,

turns my attention, turns it out,

away from locomotive thoughts,

away from murky ocean past,

away from hot mirage future,

turns it out and in between the walls.  

Where do I go from here? I ask myself

as I listen to my breath, as I confuse

my breath with the wind, as I listen

to the wind, as I hear the echo of the wind.  

When my attention returns to my heart/mind,

I have traveled a thousand years, a thousand

miles.  I have lived as dirt, moon, song, leaves,

the soft petals of a dying flower falling

to the ground.  

In this room there is nothing

more than aliveness and it looks

like me.  I am the mirror

for a vain universe.  I am a shard

of god.  I am a blessing manifested.  

I am the wind in the walls

and the walls that hold the wind.