Archive 05/18/09 - (1)

   

Forty-Mile-per-Hour Gusts

                                                                  

A fierce, brisk, vociferous wind is agitating the lake,

Whose waves are panicked spectators

Trying to escape a theater an arsonist has set ablaze.

 

They rush frantically, haphazardly, in a thousand directions,

Some crosswise, others headlong, into the shore —

A blind, mindless crashing of kamikaze combers.

 

Red and white pines guarding this cabin are up in arms;

They're violently wagging boughs, anyway.

Vicious gusts seem intent on tearing limbs from trunks.

 

I stay indoors, safe yet cowering,

Knowing better than to venture out even onto the porch,

Fearing I might be grabbed up, carried off, aloft,

 

Into that invisible zone of terrible swirling turbulence,

Cast adrift, blown back to where I left, just yesterday —

Home.

                                                      

 

 

 

 

 

05/18/09 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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