Nimbus (W)

What do you want with me?
Why give me mind: welter of
wings that beat each other
weak with wanderlust?

When I was young, I fashioned sprawling
walls with Legos. Nostalgia, meanwhile,
wrapt me in its bounds. I waited for the losses
waiting would create.

Why waken those wondrous
worlds in me, only to wag Your finger
warning: “Watch and wait”
while hope wrings wrinkles in my face?

What good’s my wondering now?
WHERE WHEN WHO HOW WHY
WHAT: a compass rose
whithering at the window ledge.

With my bow and my quiver I aim at You.

Words, these words, are a wilderness of want
where I am blown toward some vanishing point
without ever arriving; where Your heady weather
wields me, whittled whole.

While dreams quake my scaffolding,
worlds go on: snow thaws,
weeds squeeze through, flowers hoist sweetness up
without knowing how.

We writhe in one another’s waves;
whorled in their turbulence, cleansed. The Question
washed within the never of its quest. The Answer
widening its wake till waning

water cannot bear its trace: wending on, inspired
with wind the Question makes.