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Face The See, (Forget)

Time that is a mask behind
Which the blind delude themselves
That they know what they see,
Perhaps we are the wind, (forget)
Away up here in the woods somewhere
To find what is found without a word
Or with supernatural solitude abide in peace
Time to take the place of talk your eyes
Monuments looming against the horizon of eternity
Such a wound is never bound to heal until the sunset
Mixes whorls of irises into islands singing on the sea
If I fly for you will you rise with me as high are we
Ourselves or the Wind, (forget)
Finding a face with which to be.

Poetry by Chaucer Whethers