“wind was meatier then”
Was meteor sin and deceit
just a whispering betrayal done as satisfaction gasp
she breezed through relationships—a breath off the sea
snapping pennants and awnings, the way a north wind
moves through an old house lifting rugs, adjusting curtains,
rotating dust and memory, dead insects, bits of paper smudged
with faux shopping lists, advice, incantation set sail across the
ocean of tile and throw rug attracting the notice of an ole Tom on
a chair, one eye opened, one ear sonically turned to the scratch and
scritch of last week’s news, there were no survivors nor evidence of
foul play, just a banal accident which could have been predicted with
entrails of most any mammal though something like leopard would
probably reveal a broader spectrum of prognostication, an enriching
of the prophecy pallet, what did this creature have for lunch?
That kinda wind.