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Wind

30 Aug

Heart shaped eaves flying, exhausted and brittle,
limbs crack and fall in the long awaited storm.
They talk of losing power.
Ironic, when the power is greater than ever,
lifting, surging, breaking.
No power has been lost, except our own.

Hummingbirds hunker in dense thickets, grasping limbs, tossed and weak with hunger.
No, don’t go, says the mate–you’ll be killed!
Butterflies that venture are slapped back down, stick on rocks, trunks, asphalt.

Down in the bay, though I cannot see, waves run gray green, topped with foam.
You run out and anchor the patio canopy. I catch buckets skidding across the yard.
The children scamper, thrilling with excitement and a little fear, pulling plastic bag kites on strings.

 

 

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