Listen, here the far wind calling.
Her voice is hoarse and raw from screaming
through the forests and the woods
with great tall trees that shred her bare.
She's been to the seashore,
she has wave-thunder in her voice.
Hear the tang of slat and sand?
She's cold as ocean depths.
I hear mountains in her,
the shape of peak and ridge.
She sounds like a landslide's cry and groan
and cascade of sliding stone.
She sounds like the flash of lightning
and the crash of empty storms.
There is chaos caught in her,
caught tight as tangled knots.
Listen, hear the far wind calling.
Her voice is hoarse and raw from screaming.
She sounds like iron, sings like storm,
she's chaos caught in wonder.
