Trees at right angles,
Things seem clearer,
And the wind,
Tearing off rooves,
Brings a freshness
To this reasoning;
Waves crashing over
Foreshore barriers
Make a kind of sense,
In the solid way
Sandcastles never did;
And this screaming
In the dense air
Is not tin on tarmac
But a siren song,
Calling us into
A sheltered truth,
Beneath a beaten roof,
Where we find
What makes us human
Keeps us safe
In the eye of the storm.
© shaun patrick green 2013
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