Weather as if to repeat. Weather to read a name.
As if to ask a question, weather to strip the mane,
to feed the cats, to sleep. Go inside, weather to weep, split the maw.
Plant the plants, weather to eat the dead, their roots as if to speak.
Weather to number the names, hold the sheets
over bodies, blind as blue. Weather as if to flame.
Scrape the storm of its howl. Cellar as if to swarm, night as if to rot.
Ground warm with flesh, ears as if to watch. Cover the eyes
with weather, weigh them down with skin.
The dead's steady hum, weather as if to win.
Thought That Nature
Copyright © 2013 by Trey Moody
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission