Windsong

Raging outside
in the darkness
of that starless sky,
you beckon
to me
pulling my eyes
from the page
searching for
form.

Knocking limbs
setting chimes
alive
tinkling
off key
bowing to your
displeasure
you twist
the day with
your
impulsive will.

A stand of
crooked pines
armed with
sharpened needles
breathe in your
barrage
expelling only
softness.

Watching
through my
protective lens
I cower
here
inside...

but plot
retaliatory
stillness.
.