and whirling leaves. I hear the heavy rain
arrive as if released from deep within
the wind like rage, or a sudden insane
blossoming of pain, the kind that woke me
in time to hear this headlong rush of rain.
Some nights I dream of health as a calm sea.
Some nights a clearing in an alpine wood
awash in meadowgrass. But it could be
a storm, a swirling tempest in the blood
like a cyclone sweeping everything clean,
leaving wreckage in its wake, death, a flood
of grief. That would be the place to begin.
Tonight I hear the rising autumn wind.