Postcard By Heidi Juel

The wind off the ocean

    plays like a child

    bored in church,

    already knowing

    God is great.

Willful and light, it breathes,

    circling him there on the beach.

Billowing his shirt,

    enticing a laugh,

    it tousles his hair, then

    pauses to hide ---

    invisible whispers

    speaking on skin

    urge his spirit upward

and a thousand miles away

    drifting in from the northwest

    with inland maturity, and

    sister smells of moist soil and pine

it greets her,

    eyes closed with longing,

    whispers riding

    reverent waves.

Deeply

    she breathes

    a mantra of air

                                                wish…

She feels for the dance

    holding it close,

    then exhales,

    releasing the weight

                                                …you were here