Wind stampedes the fields in sight
Floundering black astride and blinding wet
Till day rises;
Then under an orange sky
The hills possess new places,
And wind wields
Luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
Once I look up
The clouds quiver, the skyline grimaces,
At any second to vanish with a flap
From the anxious image
Of my mind, just as
The wind flings a magpie
Away.
GUSTS