An archetype

Medio Mundi, love, the tempest wherein I’m stranded, around which, her name swirling on the wind,

The winged wind of Love, raging, coming home, it comes in no longer alone, but as an Archetype, her the maker of wind, carrying me along,

My headphones play shapes that fly – cars come fast by, one beauty upon another – her hair her forehead thru the heard universe,  groans, yearning for her universe, as she be in mine,

Queen, silence speaks for her, a messenger, silent, she comes! My Queen calls the wind, to my returning heartbeat, like drums, like a name spoken in love, my Queen comes,

I, medio mundi, I am assailed by love, but I like it, it beats itself in, she with her wind, reaching in, stops the raging wild, my heart is quiet, stilled, for tonight, as the wind tells of stories, blowing round my garden.