the Breath of the World is not
stoppered in a jar,
or produced with a machine.
the Wind whispers on its way
from Here to Somewhere Else:
it is Nature’s greatest contradiction.
it is neither close nor far.
it is invisible,
and is as unknowable
as the hour of one’s Death.
it is as fleeting and as constant
and as precious as Life.
it moves---and lives:
with everything,
through everything,
in Everything.
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