Insomnia

the wind
we've reaped
whirls
from the screaming
ground, up
to moaning clouds
wrapping the world
in wrath --
& it's that which moves
fingered cosmic velvet
to push us out
of perfect orbit,
to spill the seas;
& then, as a rounded
mouth,
to blow lightly
on our star
& ignite
those wrathful clouds:
narrowing fires now,
brought back down
to the frenzied
sounds
by the desperate
suck
of the drowning ...