The Wind Did Blow

Well, the wind has done its work.

I stood incredulous at the gaping

wounds in the fortress and the

fence, irked with penetrating

questions that had no answers like

how does a wood shard fly straight through

a wall? Why would one fence panel

just fall over whole and another

explode into five hundred fragments?

Why, that night, did a dark figure

appear in my dream, seem crestfallen, then

turn and walk away into the wild?

There is a natural explanation for all

these things I said, yet vexed, thinking

for a moment to split myself into the old

duality. Knowing  a better God now, though

sore in my back from the work the

wind has left for me to do: to exploit my

rage for order in my house and in

my head.

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