The wind is a sign of something,
bearing down fields, picking up
whispers and groans,
putting them in better places.

It finds us in bed and leaves
messages in the folds
of sheets around our necks,
our hips, our chests meet
our knees and shudder.

I know what's coming
and still, I brace myself.

10/16/2003

Posted on 10/17/2003
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