Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Wind Chime

The morning light divides the blinds
And touches my face.
I hear the the robins singing
To the wind chimes.

A white melody
Floats from an unknowable place
Like the sound of a wind chime
Wafting in the wind.
Perhaps I can find the direction if I pause to listen.

With the whim of the wind
The joy of the wind chime comes and goes.
It savors every gust.

The voices gathered at a table.
The clank of dishes and shifting of chairs.
The locusts, and a dog barking somewhere outside.
The cars whirring by every now and then.
The faint jingle of a wind chime
Completes this.

I wait like a wind chime,
Still and silent,
For the currents to carry to me
A reason to sing.

To be like a wind chime:
Just as willing to waltz with a playful breeze
As tango with a hurricane.

Ribbons of air weave
Between motionless metal
Commanding the quiet wind chime,
Dance. Sing. Become something divine.

The wind chime’s silver laughter
Taunted the storm one too many times.
The wrathful squall snapped the weather-worn string,
And the wind chime fell to the ground
With a harsh, regretful clang.

In the dreary mid-day haze
Hanging in the air after the rain,
Still puddles gathered on the road.
The only sound is the dampened clink of a wind chime.

The two of them begin to quarrel again,
Their voices rising in dissonance,
Out on the porch where two different wind chimes hang.

Those hands hung up the wind chime,
And it twisted happily with the wind long ago,
Now, as rust begins to crust over the mirrored metal,
Its song has become dull and hushed,
And yet the wind continues.

The call of the wind chime
Draws me down into the fog-veiled garden.
The moon glints off the glassy chime
And off her golden hair
As she sits by the fountain, waiting.

The gentle notes that the wind chime plays
Rise from the smooth silver as twinkling sparks.
I am entranced by their carefree flickering
As I watch them float up toward the sky
And all that I know fades away.

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