She’s a nail-scarred wire, bared and sparking

In the hollow darkness of your house wall;

Or a granite erratic, poised to fall,

Or a bolt of light even now arcing

To your ground; or an errant rig parking

High up your street unbraked, starting to roll

As you turn away from your door to stroll

Followed by that shadow unmarked, stopping

Nothing that has been set into motion–

Like a thousand-mile whorl spinning in thrall

To the cold eye of a low, arms churning

Ocean, though you notice no commotion,

Steered by nascent memories unrecalled

She’ll peel every roof, splinter every wall.