with graceful lines
you cleave the winds
an eager search for power
that makes you free
to spin your arms
and draw those
graceful arcs
with rhythmic beats amongst
those hidden streams
of bruising air
in sunlight 'gainst a stormy sky
bright white you gleam
but you at night
with ghostly stir
like hunting owl
you seek the airs
that blow across your towers
a search for that
which aids you in your need
to feed the ever hungry wires
but then
in doldrums
you idly stand
still ghosts
erected high and mighty proud
to turn
and work your ways
but silence points
to you
when nature turns to whimsy
a busted flush
© 22 August 2010