I don’t know
What makes the wind
Or last night
What made it rush
With the sound of everything
Being moved
That sound was more
Than the creaking of every tree-trunk
And the rustling of every branch
More than all last-Autumn’s leaves
Pushed, scraping along the pavement
More than every particle of dirt
Blasting against the windows
That sound included
All things usually too quiet to hear
Like the straining of each blade of grass
And the ruffling of every bird’s feathers
It was the rush
Not of a freight train
But of fifty freight-engines
Off the tracks and side by side
Headlamps black and heading straight
Toward you and me
It was the wind taking over
Pushing everything
All the way down
And you and I could do nothing
But go under
And wait
Me here and you there
Wishing to be together
Praying the wind
Would not take the other
And when we came together
We prayed the wind
Would not take us both
It pounding at the backdoor
Trying to get in
Radio siren wailing
Synthetic voice reporting
A town blown through
To the west
The wind is gone now
And I hear the sound of everything…
Everything being quiet
I don’t know
What makes the wind
Or what makes it rush
But I think it’s the same thing
That last night made it stop
Jim's Writing 