The, said the wind,
the, the, the, … 
touching at braille,
feeling a hand,
thumbing an index,
reaching into the pocket
of my mouth.

“You’re a one,”
they say up north,
the wind there
in two minds, 
the wind there
with half a mind
to let you have it,
converting
metres to miles,
reiterating
your article’s
indefinite,
man being the sum
of things,
not a thing
of sums,
not something.