How fertile the wind

There are figure 8's, infinity signs, gracing our chronology.
What does it all mean. Where shall we be going.
By what see shall we sleep, and shall we, giving all of our hands,
awake in a field of black sunflowers, utterly perplexed, bareheaded and free.

The air is filled with seeds. How fertile the wind.
What shall we sow. To know the air is to know the spirit.
Is to articulate the questions ; atomize the answers.

The dreamer is rising and considers the long field.
And the clouds, like crazy eights, drifting horizontal.
And his own hands, which hold, even so peacefully, so much power.

- Patti Smith