From...'Bahamian Rhapsody'

PART EIGHTEEN


COLD WINDS

careful not to bay at the moon
this wolf more like sheep
too poor to wear a tattered garment
once proudly thinking it was gold
to shield against a cold, cold wind
pushed down into the slits of my house
I huddle and bend in memories found
as bitter winds blow into the cob
entangles a mind in a net of chain
an intricate web of cotton- thread
spun from a worm's secretion
criss -crossed with illusions
fish scales placed like armor
to guard a worn and fragile soul
still to perish in this storm
winds blow hard against a cart
carrying it further to the sea
deeper still into the oceans
from whence and where spirit is born...