Does the wind ever get tired
always moving
pushing and pulling
the world first this way, 
then the other
rushing with breathless voice
stripping away the moments 
like loose shingles flapping in a storm
the wind is an organic machine 
with tireless patience 
it will yank that flapping shingle free
our natural world is field with a mystery of gears
hidden away from casually curious eyes
its unseen mechanics always grinding away 
the voice behind it all is winded
a heavy whisper in the leaves
wind, like gravity is at once a mystery
holding the world together 
even as it threatens to tear it apart
wind rolling down Kentucky hills
teasing and tearing across the tops of trees
carrying the weight of the world
it is invisible motion
does the wind ever get tired?