The Next Day Poem by L C Vieira

The rising wind lifts the trees to a crescendo,
a chorus of leaves, shivering, and I with them
at what may come.
It seems an ominous wave, unfeeling
as it pulls away, threatening
to build, again and again.

How long will it hold me, waiting here
alone in the forest dark, watching the window,
a blind banging on the pane,
and two dogs sleeping?

I awake.
No storm has passed. Is this a tease?
A glimmer of sun beckons me,
peeking through tall branches,
smiling, swaying in a rhythmic dance;
a promising wink for my next day.

(2011)