Treading

These arms are just exhausted, rubbery

Lactic acid building up to the point 

No strength left to push against the waves

Alternating between treading water and

Trying my best to swim upstream

Current fighting my every movement

Straws

Grasping at straws

Such a fun sounding

Aphorism for something

That in all reality

Is frustrating to the point

Of throwing up your hands

Grasping at straws

The story of everything now

Wind

You don't ask the wind to blow

That's not how it works for us

You wait and you hope that she

In her inimitable power and thought

Graces you with such presence

As to see the tops of the sycamore

Moving with the fluidity they enjoy

And that your ears hear the whispers 

The susurrus sounds that calm

She comes to you in her own time