The Coming Spring Storm

THE COMING SPRING STORM

Squealing through opaque windows
the whistling gusts sweep papers
to the floor
in a frenzy of mortal chaos
changing the afternoon´s plans to simpler tasks
for now.

Finally gathered together, the desk is set, the window shut,
and, pulling the shades higher to see the storm´s dark blue origins,
the mountains a mile or two beyond stare back,
giving away no secrets, the wind, granting no quarter, the skies, merciless.

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