They Call the Wind Mariah*

Garden flowers sleep through the storm,
I wonder where  butterflies go
when it rains.  My window wears tears,
a myriad of trickling gems
with rainbows growing inside them.

There is something primitive about this night.
Gauzed in with fog shrouding the mountains,
I remember moonlight, a constantly changing
phenomenon.  Plato creeps into my mind.
It’s all a matter of perception

except for the wind.

**title of a song sung by the Kingston Trio