Fear

S. Bert Cooksley

The clouds swept out and off to one gray side
Of a taut orchard lightning-splintered,
And a stark wind split the alfalfa's wide
Blanket, and down where the calves had wintered
Nervous rain beat, and a savage whipping
Started the trees, and beneath the smudged door
A dark pool gathered, and the swift dipping
Of a window-shade threw over the floor
Quick sputtering shadows. . . . I watched you fill
The porch lamp, saw you draw over your hair
A dark shawl-then briefly against the sill
Lean and stare out over the fields; and where
Your hand stood a trembling was, and when you
Turned there was, lining your lips, a faint blue.