heartshapedowl

The glass has been falling all the afternoon,

And knowing better than the instrument

What winds are walking overhead, what zone of gray unrest is moving across the land,

I leave the book upon a pillowed chair

And walk from window to closed window, watching

Boughs strain against the sky.

And think again, as often when the air

Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,

How with a single purpose time has traveled

By secret currents of the undiscerned

Into this polar realm.

Weather abroad and weather in the heart alike come on

Regardless of prediction. -Adrienne Rich

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Storm Warnings

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