The Merry Foehn Is Weary

A faded flute
is the merry foehn today.
and it drags along the ground,
not across the heavens,
not through forests
and fields
does the merry foehn go flinging.
The merry foehn has worn itself out.
It whispers
and passes by.
Today, spent,
the funnelled foehn,
faint on the backdrop
of the Vladaya
canyon,
kicks at leaves,
loiters
and seeks the counsel
of its friend,
the winged one:
“I have no strength,
no direction…
Are you coming with me?”