Old Songs


sometimes when a wind comes up
lifting the leaves against each other
shifting silverly
it feels as if the surface
of the earth is shifting
layers — once adamantly fixed
shifting, shifting
sky sliding on earth with wind in between
and me, helpless before
this shuffling of the land

i might fall off
go slipping, sliding, endlessly,
if the balance shifted
only slightly

where would i find myself?
in the sky?
beneath the earth?
all the same when the wind blows