How we bend
and bow
and scrape,
trees in the wind,
lashing limbs
ready to claw open the sky
and let it bleed rain
let it run down,
let it soak us in the numbing cold.
How we furiously shriek when offended,
when turned in the storm
and left to quiver.
How we wail.
How we weep.
What happens
when the fight between us
and the weather has blown out?
What vicious thing will next find its wind?
Vicious Vicious
