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.