In a borrowed room on the second floor:
Startled by a motion at the corner of my eye,
I wondered, Who was rising outside my window?
And then laughed, Old Glory!
Seconds before the clock stopped.
Off in the woods:
One bewildering roar of squall
obstructed cabin pathways
with limbs left hanging
six months after ice sheets
shattered each grove around here.
Who knew how long I’d go
with the power lines down
while a hurricane decayed
a half-continent from landfall?
A blue chill fell on the lane
as if there had never been need
of a screen-door to the kitchen.
Just yesterday, its outside wall
had been plastered with insects!
Now, even the air crackled.
The following year:
When she warned me, “Run like hell
(you truly can’t imagine what
you’ll be allowing in your life)” –
was she really all that surprised
I fled right into open flame?
“Run like the wind,” she chuckled.
Suppose I hadn’t acquiesced on
my only chance at that door?
With or without a screen to the wind?
Once again in a room on the second floor:
This time it’s just off our bedroom.
Sitting beside a window countering
the prevalent wind, I feel many cold fingers
upon me while flags of laughter rise
from our own kitchen, downstairs.
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