can this be considered pastoral poetry? yes or no.

Here it goes again... the sucky formatting, that is. Wrote this one on the bus while headed to the dear campus where I teach. Let me know whether or not something makes sense to you in here. Please. It's my only way of knowing how accessable my poetry is... I'd rather it not just be art for art's sake. Autonomous art, in other words... though true autonomy in art is really never possible. This I've learned... now, onward. Hope you're all well!

yessir

and only our wind knows
some of these differences:
grains & textures of dust, from
winter salt //
summer earth.

we discuss the dark
& the darker shroud
over presidents, campaigns—
all of them //
you and I.

we want a new wind coming,
old redemption song,
are they ever the same two winds?
none of them //
warmer than dry?

ever blue and not fog?
I don’t want to be
trumpet blowing walls down—
neither raised rod //
nor ladder rung.

that all right? maybe we need a new wind,
new cloud come, won’t you
blow this house down?
dirty settling //
not here, not here.

ever and again, asking,
can’t we all mill?
so, we’re keeping on... ‘til
it’s us // just
the one.