The wind in the city
has so many names
No portent of the weather
No kiss of far off trees
It has addresses
and shorter lifespans
Brought about by smaller changes
manmade and unexpected
The 4th ave breeze from rush hour
The Broadway gusts bourn of channeled winds
Whistling in the subways
and
trees
and
tunnels
But the four Wild Winds
old as time
Named for the turn of the earth
Children of the Rising and Setting sun
Great siblings of the seas
Patient carvers of mountains and sometimes angry rotations.
Constant their fickle
Their children the clouds in tow or behind
Sailors and Fishermen know them
Mountain climbers know them
The people of the city know them
but most by their children and grand children
and their doppler echos
Like the broadway gusts
flitting to and fro
without stopping
at the whim of...
The Four know the children of the earth
As Gods almost eternal paying heed to the times
With reckless abandon
Girdling mother earth pole to equator