Sometimes wind berates trees,
ruffles finches that cling on trembling twigs.
Indoors the dog paces, pants, unable to rest
when something whistles so persistently
through her windows.
I too wonder at its ferocity,
to what ends it will go to make its point.
This language it speaks—
that of an angry god periodically reminding
all living beings to bow.
Look, Numen—we smile more
when you thrum cooling vowels
instead of roar and clamor.
Photo by Mat Brown from Pexels