The fan blade breaks through
The air, shifting the dust particles
That have accumulated over time
Heaving papers up, that were once
Lying flat on their sides, like
Dead weights in a sea of stone;
Sniff the dust filled air, feel
The slight breeze prickle my
Arm; my hair rises in protest
To the sky god that had created
Wind in the first place, that
Had seen fit to put it into this world;
Oh look at this, fair prince, and
Feel with me, and my sword shall
Vanquish thee as quickly as my breath
January 4, 1997
