Fresh Band-Feather

Inside the eye of a new storm
comes the question, are you lost?
comes as a little nesting tornado, a
windy Matryoshka tucked
naturally within another,
wind like the tiny tempests
that lift street leaves from gutters in fall
—a miniscule funnel by standards of
Tornado Alley but
if you’re small (as small
as a small thought)
the small question,
are you lost in this new storm?
looms like a building tsunami
off the beach at your feet
its swelling, horizon-lifting wave
poised in the instant before the thought:
oh yeah, yesterday-would-be-better
in the shutter-click before
it rakes the landscape,
in the time before

……….……it is still

inside the eye of this new storm,
everything’s familiar;
heaven has no new revelations
in fact news is always old-hat,
but hat with a fresh band-feather—
love and hate (ghosts with heartbeats)
are eternal as new babes, and
to be lost in a new storm
is as natural as breath & death

by Jim Culleny

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