Our Souls are Wind

The elements whereof our souls are tempered
Are now too massy to be uplifted.
And the wind is all around and would
Knock us down, were we more than a
Single speck of dust. A speck of dust on which
Sits the weight of the cosmos. We do not
Move in the tempest that surrounds us.

If we could move, we would soar, but
Our souls are cosmic clay, dark and dank,
Dug from the pit of the earth.

The wind blows where it will,
And you hear its sound.

Our ears are clay. We hear nothing.
Our face is clay. We feel nothing.

But you know not from whence it comes,
Or where it is going.

I am a speck of a speck of clay. I am dropped
Into water. I sink—do I drown?