Storm Warning

This heavy wind is marked on weather maps,

But in the points of land

That reach to seas where hidden coral traps

Still hold young bones,

Or at the top of air,

Where thinning folds meet space,

And only algebra can touch the groping hand-

Anger takes form and face.

Not God's, for that could be foreseen,

And the stale heart admitting sin

Would hurry to the church,

Grow calm to ritual and the season's green,

Nor Lucifer's, now laughable and thin-

But this is wrath with the tornado's twist,

Saved up to strike us near,

As in stock-ticker's lurch,

Burning of land and gear,

A pleasure boat's quick list

And dive, while trained hands steer.

They danced at Singapore,

As Nero fiddled once to similar flames,

To give historian or psychologist

A complex task

Assorting varied shames;

But there's a simpler answer to despair-

We did not look behind the helmet's mask

The young boy wore into the cloud,

We did not hear the yokel's dumb dream tear,

When the deep earth he ploughed

Shook into dust beneath our vicious games.

The one good man who might have saved the town

Was in the subway trampled by the mob,

The artists too were down,

And all their prophecies in paint or word,

Music's distorted sob,

Ignored-unheard.

Long, long we knew, oh, many days and nights,

Driving smooth roads to the conclusive breath,

For all accumulations have their rights,

Whether it be an ant-heap. or:the frown

Between a peasant's eyes,

Or planet's death-

And so, not in surprise

Shall we feel the avalanche take its first step down.