Typical, your weather
smitten by love
now the wind rushes
untimely, ungainly,
you were a near disaster
the day the quake shook you,
me, your culverts, your innards, the wind is stoic, promises change in a pedestrian’s cleft.
Leave me alone in these hills, knowing only that the
earthquake may or may not arrive in these longitudinal hills of rock stone mingling with dust and sprinkled colours.
