A feather stick makes wind
over the ripples of the keyboard
dust whirling up and down
from the swaying
Again and again a run-up
And the light beaming through
The storm plays with the beach
it winnows, just toss it, and toss it
Sand ripples along the sea
The horn of a late guest
Last notes, last gusts
the wind lies down on the edge
of the old sea
and the new land