Some poems of a common thread

I want something from this air.
This night air.
This day air.
This clear, sweet, dewy refreshment air.

I want it to be more, more than it is!
More than a scent, more than a sense!
Experience! Joy! Power!

Fill my lungs, O sky, with a jubilant levity, an effervescent piety!
I drink you in, in and in and more and more,
it is nothing more than it can be, nothing more than it will be,
and I am sated only with longing.

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Silhouette hay rolls along the field,
Night drive by shoots down past.
Looking left, a sense
with no words,
no tapestry I can weave,
no tale I can spin,
no thing I can really create;
My words are held together:
with chewing gum and sticky tack,
band-aids, too.
wobbling, wavering, worthless!

O that I could paint this sky,
so warm and wet,
fuzzy stars blinking sheepish through dim lids