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