Do you hear me?
The wind whispers my name as it chills your spine,
shakes your body with cold.
You deny my acquaintance,
but I know you well.
I am that voice in the night you dare not listen to
for I whisper of could-bes, should-haves and ifs.
I am the feverdream of a poet;
his earthsense, his madness.
I hold your life in the palm of my hand,
and slowly I clench each finger.
Ever so slowly a flame is snuffed.
A star bursts; a display of terrible despair.
Planets move to my music
and are born, later to die.
I am the rust on farm equipment
left to weep red tears in the rain.
I have eaten away the wood’s paint;
the gold plate on a charm I’ve tarnished.
I have blurred the granite’s words, the face of its master.
A fading angel bows and murmurs “God bless.”
All things I make tolerable,
yet I am feared beyond all else.
A clock ticks
as a serpent devours his tail,
a wolf, the sun.
The wind whispers my name
as you despair of falling asleep;