It howls like an angry, hungry wolf,
His throat a desperate match
That won’t ignite, his
Head tilted back toward a sky
Where clouds pass like cars
Steered by drunken birds.

The sun is a shivering fire;
Trees heave and wheeze,
Their branches like lungs
Wracked by pneumonia;
Dust and leaves and garbage
Hurl expletives into the air.

The forecast called for this.
Forests battened down the hatches;
Grasses bent toward the earth,
Hid their heads in the spring soil,
And even squirrels kept out of sight.

Yet I try to catch the wind,
My hands cupped as though
Scooping up a drop of sand or sea,
As though the letters of a great book
Had been blown away:
An alphabet like a runaway train.

I step in front.
A library explodes around me.
Sitting down to read,
I marvel at my illiteracy.
Cursing loudly, I slam the door,
Go to sleep, and dream dreams
That are utterly illegible.

 Written on April 3, 2016