Your angry swirls shiver limbs of huge oaks
lining this Highlands NJ hill edging
the Atlantic. I wonder, as sheets soak
us and you storm southeast, your rage dredging
swells from the sea’s great body, will you leave
clouds behind when you reach Namibia,
streak through sunlight along vast, ruffled sleeves
of desert coast, your torrid screams rename
Sossusvlei dunes while aeolian force
reshapes fragile tiers of their highest crests,
blister their tourists as your current course
batters ours, turning our beach to harvests
of caked mush, ripping awnings off our piers?
Then, next day, whisper warmly in our ears?
Roger Armbrust
September 18, 2007
