A stronger wind reveals the shape of things,
as leaves peel back from blackened twigs, or hair
displays our curving skulls. A kite’s frayed strings
uncoil like asps, then snap. The lawn chair’s wings
emerge when it takes flight. The skirt betrays
the thighs while mortar cracks in walls once square.
Deep-footed oaks tug at the ground and craze
the hunching concrete walk. A draft surveys
the floorboards like a tomcat. Snow falls up
and drifts the sky. Every straight thing bends
to greet the ground. Although our faces cup
the wind in hollows, skin can’t comprehend
the jut of bones, the way the cyclone’s maw
can find the sharp spear heart inside the straw.