A Windswept Dream

The wind goes wild with joy;
it sweeps away
my raven hair
now flying above the land.
It takes fragrance, meandering;
it reminds me of
the waves of the sea,
the salty depths of life.

We chase the path of roses,
became shores against
a lush curve of old palms.
The sun grows curious,
folk wild residing there,
but I am nameless,
and my exposed soul swims
between the bushes sparse,
manifold of purples and bushel reds.

• Gabriela Mistral