Alan: At the center of great commotion, a stillness.
burst of white on black
scratching, scratching itself in the wind.
Towards the Lea,
on the sheltered south slope
below the copse,
Near, through the gated hedge,
Nancy: What else would a railroad man’s daughter compare the wind to? It’s spring – the wind blows whoooee.
High Balling Wind
This wind’s traveling. This wind’s moving
on a long grade.
If you could hop this wind
wouldn’t you fly . . .
But you can’t catch this wind.
It’s got a heavy load; it’s full of winter
and it’s headed out.
I heard that whistle, and I went out
to see. Yes, this wind’s blowing
a clear track. This wind’s blowing
stand aside, coming through . . .
No, you can’t catch this wind,
it’s wailing high ball,
right through town. This is a freight train
wind; it makes my feet itch,
but I can’t catch it – stand back –
it’s high balling right through town.
Whoooee . . . stand aside, coming through,