pushes through the trees the way

the mind pushes against a bad dream

the moment after waking when you rush

to bring yourself back from the tornado

of your own demons pressing toward you

as you scurry along a cliff edge, shouting

your silent shouts, until something wiser

wakes you, the part of your brain

that refuses to stay there, like

this wind that is shaking

whole trees, making them release

what is no longer needed

as we go into this stark season.

There will be phantoms, but you must

not fear them. Be steady, let the wind

take all but what will keep you alive.