Wind poem

[The first line is from Terce by Malachi Black for Everyday Poems.]

But then I think I see the wind:

it’s a blanket, faded like

water colors.

I close my eyes and paint

it with my mind,

brush strokes in my hair,

the dance of fairies.

I am planted in its movement,

infused with its breath,

at once canvas, artist, and

muse.

Inseparable.