The Wind

They seek to know

When the yolk is

eaten, does the folly

exceed what is reaped.

Yet they had knew,

since he had left

the hawk no longer

feels the harsh feign.

He couldn’t have known

from the bitter sky,

the crackled moon had

be taken the shy sun.

Their lack of knowledge

was the unsavory production

of the wet ringing

present in ancient myth.

Told before but no,

uncaptured in transparent conscious.

To see glutton wind

is a trifling thing.