A cold wind flows over the cornfields; Fleets of blackbirds ride that ocean. I want to be in that wild, be Outdoors, live anywhere in the wind.
I settle down, with my back against A shed wall where no one can find me. I stare out at the box elder leaves Moving in this mysterious water.
What is it that I want? Not money, Not a large desk, a house with ten rooms. This is what I want to do: To sit here, Take no part, be called away by wind.
// "The Call Away" by Robert Bly from Eating the Honey of Words: New and Selected Poems HarperCollins, New York (1999), p. 24 (Web) Silence in the Snowy Fields (1958-1978) from this website. robert bly is + will always be one of my favourites