A restless wind turns over leaves and passes through the house, as if searching for something it can’t find so far from the tropics.



    Always the uninvited guest, the wind
    pushes through the porch into the house,
    and scatters leaves collected in its wake,
    like a shower of crackling seeds freed
    from pods that do not come from here.

    Strange, how it barrels through rooms
    disturbing spiders spinning webs busily
    before the storm ebbs, safety nets strung
    among sepia-tinted pictures on the wall.

    What did it miss along the way? Winds
    as interlopers are blind levellers–the rich
    run for supplies as quickly as the poor do.

    In New York, as in Virginia, the howler
    brought in the flood, and left laughing.

    —Albert B. Casuga

  2. Irene

    What to make of it,
    this coincidence of wind
    with the ghost hollows
    in my soul’s edges?
    It is not full hurricane
    strength but it’s more than
    depression, a storm,
    a tropical storm blowing
    me away from you.

  3. This one is my favorite for the week.

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