Babbling zephyrs, the undercurrent of wonderings,
A deep breath forms in capitals,
Rippling the landscape of the mind.
Shapes of thoughts meander resiliently,
Bouncing in their transparency.
I stand on the shores, unsure and wavering;
My shadow drizzles itself pale.
Reaching for a cloud,
I catch my breath and secure again the whispering.
The millstone ashens to a feather in my palm.
Wearily, humby, freely, quietly, finally:
I blow it off.