Summer Wind

I just spoke with the summer wind again,
that voice of the Universe that alchemists
from fantastic novels have sought and found,
and it told me of your fondness.

If you are wondering why I have stained myself in red,
it is simply because The Black are still on someone's bed
waiting for the flat iron to smooth their roughness.

The red still carries the same message.
As do the plastic frames of glasses
and the blue jeans, and soft leather boots
whose shoelaces seem to always undo themselves.

I carry the same message—
just as your black scarf does.

And the summer wind winked.
And I have to get back to work.
And so should you.