The wind in the city has so many names

No portent of the weather No kiss of far off trees

It has addresses and shorter lifespans

Brought about by smaller changes manmade and unexpected

The 4th ave breeze from rush hour The Broadway gusts bourn of channeled winds

Whistling in the subways and trees and tunnels

But the four Wild Winds old as time Named for the turn of the earth Children of the Rising and Setting sun Great siblings of the seas Patient carvers of mountains and sometimes angry rotations. Constant their fickle Their children the clouds in tow or behind

Sailors and Fishermen know them Mountain climbers know them

The people of the city know them but most by their children and grand children and their doppler echos

Like the broadway gusts flitting to and fro without stopping at the whim of...

The Four know the children of the earth As Gods almost eternal paying heed to the times With reckless abandon Girdling mother earth pole to equator