I love to see it
                        swirl the sky

                    the wind
               which works
             invisibly

          its brushstrokes
       teasing forth
      new forms
       from clouds
         that run like
           paint jars
 
           spilled
 
        across the canvas
     of the blue:

a mouse becomes
  an elephant

      the duckling swims
    into a swan

         or snakes unravel
            into air

      then faces shape up
    everywhere

       or circles widen
         into eyes.

At dawn
  the phoenix might arise
    with wings of fire blinding wide

     as other figures spring and glide
    between the heavens
and my mind.

At any moment
   one may find
     the tiger,
       rose,
     a sword,
    or heart
   as wind exhibits
endless art.