Clouds roll over the snow caps
Desert floor below
The energy in the air shifts and charges
In this place the people are not.
Those that were,
They were known as the
People of the Wind.
What happens that someone arrives?
Curious storm, rolling down like the tide line
That voice scratching across the earth uninterrupted
Shaking the one like a pocket full of mouse bones
Who, who are you? the invisible ponders
Rattle, rattle. rattle, rattle,
Like chattering teeth.
The wind has fists in this land,
Pounding down in burst and cackles-
What are you doing here?
Are you a people of the wind?
What are you doing here? scratches the creaking, pounding ponder.