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I suppose, the first flicker of it is that flirt
against the glass surface of a window, says
it all; especially, how good it is
to be indoors when something like a tiger
starts to pussyfoot, then wreaks the slaughter
in imagery, with aqua vitae plays
cheap, breaks into flight the upright life of trees,
in massive exodus to a promised hour.
But in the mind the storm is circumscribed;
its howling, shrieking, revolting and bolting
framed in the concept, though it seems to over-
power; yet, in thought alone is it described:
the witness is the proof to the resulting
that makes the storm the thing it is - the mover. |
