Look how the wind makes patches
on the lake with its random blowing,
ruffling an area of water like a thought
rippling the mind, stirring it slowly
as it entertains the new suggestion.
The patch shifts, moves, melds away,
reappears elsewhere, like indecision,
moves into the lakeside grass, bending it
playfully, combing its hair, then sliding away.
And this goes on all day, revising everything
the way the mind does in its casual thinking,
musing its way through the hours,
in its whimsy, chuckling a little at
a notion or proposal of the air, never resting,
just redoing it a little here and there,
like an editor, a recaster of the breeze,
refining its creativity for publication.
Toward evening a settling gull adds a period.