Hurricane Lamp

The shutters open over
rain, best time for
the great black piano to sound

above the wind
raking fire-coloured leaves in the yard.

It brushes up the years, sweeps the
cracked flagstones, is loud as
the weathervane

so when thunder comes and
the monsoon pours rubbish into
all the storm drains

I shall recount with an old shudder

how I spread out my fingers
under the hurricane lamp
and clutched for shadows.