The Common Measure of Wind
The wind from north, we poke the fire,
sparks’ playful obligation,
sharp blows from east, bedevilled cold,
it is as we observe.
The breeze from west, sea foam is blowing,
conscious always, going lea
soft from south, oft overlooked,
weather clips a broken sentence.
Remixed text from my 1991 Winter Journal
and Bleak House by Charles Dickens