The Northwest Wind

In my garden

Between hydrangea and jasmine,

A sculpture, a beautiful man

With flowing curly hair,

Eyes closed with purpose,

Lips provocatively pursed, his

Hand held beneath his chin,

Blows across the years. I named

Him “Northwest Wind”.

This morning, while plucking

Dead geranium blooms,

I discovered, in his hand,

An opened seed pod,

Six black seeds waiting to fly.

Some days

He blows me a kiss.