. . .wind gust on the lake

scary as the truth may be
empty as a lie
coming down the southern air
with a nickel-plated eye

slipping through the aftermath
narrow as a thread
holding on to hopeless chance
with a sly and stealthsome tread

cracking like a thunderbolt
silver-cobalt streak
coming through the open void
astride a highblown shriek

wilder than a hurricane
honest as a stone
ripping like a razorblade
that just came off a hone

1977