by Christopher Raley


Wind drives brittle leaves against the house

like tiny skittering creatures

clawing a way out of night and storm.


Her hands spasm on the comforter,

stunned birds struggling to gain flight.

She mutters incomprehensible things

and the wind objects with a prolonged speech.


At last her tongue cleaves to the roof

and she snarls herself to argument.

But the wind is full of outrage


and the frightened creatures are frantic

for me to let them in.

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