After e. e. cummings
i have found what you are like
(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust of sleep.
A storm woke this morning
an anger so resolute,
it shook the wooden garden fence
unhooked washing lines
turned over bins
dropped hanging flower baskets
and made me hold on to a lamp pole
struggling to keep my coat on.
I have finally found what you are like;
the furious wind
your invisible hands
and bereft me, a torn, brittle leaf.
your intolerable storm offers no pole