Winter Wind

Whitecaps on the river—so fierce

is the day’s wind: a crowd of people

waving hats in the air. They must be

waving goodbye. Not yet, he thinks,

best not to look. Chickadees flutter

among the branches of the juniper,

playing it safe. Who knows where

they might end up? Feathered confetti.

All night he dreamt of cars in collision;

someone’s done for, that’s for certain.

Doors bang; clouds rush to the east.

So much disorder and the sky seems

bluer than ever, a page across which

indistinct messages are scrawled in haste.