The elements still stand at four.

We’ve exhausted earth. Fire. Water.

Now the wind begs for our leash.

One can hear it shushing through leaves

in tall birch trees. Branches bending gently

on a warm evening in Sextilis.

Can you feel it on your skin?

Conscript the breeze.

Make it work like a donkey

walking in incised circles around

a rotary wheel.

Harness it in sails

to grind the grain to flour,

to turn the hands of a clock

and make the hour.

In the wind you can begin again.

From island to island

from Roma to Carthage, follow this advice:

Use the air to change the way

the world gets by

and the only waste you’ll see

are the clouds moving in the sky.