“Let the wind speak” (Pound)

Some mornings there are almost no words. Sun coming over the mountain at 8, the water still and cool, and the fir we pass every day, its bark dense, a few sapsucker holes glistening with resin.

Some mornings nothing matters. Every dark thought in the night — gone. The work waiting? Well, it can wait. Almost no words and none of them matter. A light breeze.

I have tried to write Paradise

Do not move
      Let the wind speak
        that is paradise.

Let the Gods forgive what I
        have made
Let those I love try to forgive
        what I have made.

Note: the lines are Ezra Pound’s, from the Cantos.