Write me a sonnet with the wind in it, please.
Because we both heard separately the bark
of the hungry storm last night- he there, me here-
the wind tossing itself through the dark
between us, he wrote and asked.
So wind, appear,
I say, because he wants you. Flap and nip
and yowl, Chinook, Samoon, Diablo.
Today your sizzling breath, your deadly flip