not the autumn wind
not the occasional kind
not the coy chinook
not the hurricane force wind
the wind that summons poetry

one small word frees you
nameless fish in nameless stream
you’re not a flower
your god’s gone from the canyon
nature signifies nothing

know the nature of water
Niagara is made of joy
it can be your cure
but come too close
you’re swept into nothingness

Nicholas Power