"There Sits The Wind"

  And there sits the wind in the living room,
          trying to make sense of such a breezeless space.
  (He likes the ceiling fan: leaves it on continuously,
says it reminds him of something,
that it calms the restless,
that he NEEDS it.)
             Had I known then that you could trap the wind-
             tie him up with promises, and debt,
             and birthdays to come
       And that he would forget to fly, or stir up
       even the smallest of dust devils,
I would have left him alone. But how could I know? I only wanted a bright wing to hang onto for just a little flight:
for a smidge of a getting away.
                        The worst of it is his blank staring, TV blaring,
                         his very heart choking the life from the channels,
                         fingers punishing the remote over and over.