Every Wind
Every wind loses itself,
no matter where
it starts. I want
a little piece of you.
No.
I want your atmosphere
bundled in a small rice paper packet
and labeled with strings of new rain
and stepping stones.
I want
the grace of silence
blowing in through the cracked
window, disturbing only
the shadows.
Everywhere I go, bits of me linger,
searching for you.
Grief ages one thread at a time,
lurking like an odor
among the lost
things,
or your breath,
still out there,
drifting.
* * *
Music: “Gymnopedie No. 1” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
“Every Wind” first appeared in The Lake in July 2016, and is included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second, available for order now via Amazon.com and Finishing Line Press.
O at the Edges 
So poignant! and perfect with Satie.
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Thank you. That Satie piece is one of my all time favorites.
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I agree, when I became a piano teacher, my sister said take all my books. But when I was loading up Gymnopedie, she said ‘no! not that one.” I understood, and was glad that she still wanted to play it.
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This sounds so peaceful. The recording put the piece into perspective. Amazing work!
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Thank you, Elysian. Much appreciated!
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Achingly beautiful work…perfectly paired with the Satie tune. Wonderful.
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Thank you, Grove!
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Reblogged this on On My Feet and commented:
Achingly beautiful work from Robert Okaji…perfectly paired with a Satie tune. I love this.
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Thank you for your kind words, and for reblogging this.
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Beautiful! And with one of my favorite pieces of music. ❤
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Thanks very much, Sarah. It’s one of my favorites, too.
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Beautiful.
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Thank you!
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A wonderful recording! This leaves me with a mix of sadness and something altogether NOT sad … the thought of passed loved ones’ breath drifting about, the possibility I will breathe it in … or at least leave a bit of my own out there to mingle with the others when circumstances are right …
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Thanks, Jazz. Our energies will linger long after we’re gone. Or at least I hope so.
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Amazing!
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Thanks very much!
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oh, my. This made me cry.
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Then I have done my job properly. Thanks, Jilanne.
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What strikes me (well, it would) is the way in which the spoken and on-screen versions, though (ostensibly) identical, are totally discrete. Each evokes its own responses, each approaches the viewer/listener from its own direction, with its own concreteness.
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I enjoy that facet of recordings. Each is different, and the slightest variation of tempo or inflection can move the piece in a different direction.
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