the wind today won’t stop.
and this is no warm, gentle, autumn wind,
this is wind turned loose from its pen.
this is not the science of rain,
this is a whisper with velocity,
shouting slam poetry in exclamations and anapests over a philharmonic of chimes.
a pestilent end to silence everywhere.
this is a tricksy and stubborn wind with arguably devious motives.
(oh I saw you this morning, when you jabbed my espresso off the car roof, yes I did.)
this is a hulking and hooded figure, staggering by with a flask under his coat, too close – turning to wheeze, laugh and yell at anyone who will listen.
(do we have a choice?)
this enormous, interminable sigh of a wind is navigating cracks in my igloo,
whipping through my coat as if it were made of threads of light
exploring hips and throat and belly.
this is a cold and brutal loving –
a thief in my field –
an unwanted insight.
I’m more tenacious than you realize.
my incandescence cannot be put out.