Wind

Swift and elegant motions;
drapery taken along by the wind
window still and silent
bright beams of light as ever brilliant.
Gusts of dense zephyr
into the peaceful disaster inside.

An irony among impossibilities
the dust lifts from the old furniture
swirls of dead skin in a lively home.
Nobody seems to notice,
everything is wrong
and the birds aren’t chirping.

The wind dies down,
but the palm trees still sway.
The dust begins to settle.
Nobody seems to notice,
everything is right
and a crow looks down from a cable.

Nothing’s moved since the blast
and nothing will again,
not there, not he.
The plume that rose
dissolves,
as it meets the settling dusk.