I mean this warm spring
wind coming in from Oregon,
first over the Cascades then out
across the desert till it’s good
and clean, and the clouds have blown
off north toward maybe Alberta,
but what’s underneath and warm
keeps coming on.
And you, having just turned twenty,
are prepared, in a sense, for whatever
the wind can offer. How do you get prepared
but to live and suffer love’s despair,
to run with your heart in your hand
like a trembling flame
to yet another sweet destruction?
Get ready, here she comes again,
her hair unbound and streaming,
her eyes wide open,
her lips apart,
her clear voice calling —
Away, come away.