the wind

The wind-

I wish I could bend everything

and still make it work, not

angst, worse than that even (imagine)

but trouble none the less

a wind that comes down the chimney

and runs through my house,

opening doors

screaming and then growing still

I wish for the past, my great aunt

who

I see walking with her skirts in motion and her canes

coming after me,

back from death   looking suddenly

through my front window

at me

Author's Note

there is a crook in this poem part way beyond the first stanza but I left it, and will have to read it over and change things later.