The Winnower of the Wind

I saw Him once
The Winnower of the Wind.

He stood upon the precipice
Of the earth
With his mighty fork
And time was in His hand.

His eyes burnt
Like embers from a
Golden fire.
His body was silver
And His feet were brass.

A great wind sounded
With the swinging of His
Winnowing Fork.
It was an engulfing force
Slicing the air
And I nearly surrendered
To its fury.

Falling upon my knees
Without a thought in my head
I was fully
At the mercy
Of the swinging fork
That would surely come again
And again.

How hot was His breath
And angry!

I felt compelled to succumb
To the force
But I fell to the ground
And time
For me
Stilled.

I was suspended
Between the parentheses
Of time and being.

But time moved again
And I remained.

I know one day the Winnower
Will return
And I will go
When the tines gather me.

When breath is forced from me
I will be gathered
And I will go
Where sheaves are stored
At the will of
The Winnower of the Wind.