1

Those who have already been destroyed

recognize its signs: the sky

clouds like a glaucous eye,

the wind muscles over whatever

is weak. Waves swell, engorged

with too much of something.

A lashing, a swimming of tongues

through air. Birds disappear.

The smell of ocean in the wrong place,

of something diseased, lost fish.

The sky bellows, darkens, roars

like a drunk.

Those unacquainted with destruction

ask for wind speeds, amount of rainfall,

degree of movement. A plotting,

a computation of the destruction.

2

For some of us, all seasons are hurricane.

The winds gale up, working us like seed,

moving us like desire.

What lies beyond measurement

is all of beauty and terror.

To understand is to evacuate.