The Wind Poem by Bert Bell

after you bring the storm clouds, mighty
wind— where do you go? do you seek quiescence,
or do you return with more rain,

or hail— will you come again with booming
thunder and forks of blinding light?
are you the wind who brings wild gusts

of march mayhem or gentle april
rain— do you subdue
yourself to bring warm breezes on which eagles soar

in search of prey, or the sweet scent of summer's
hay and clover— are you the same relentless force that crashes
broken waves against the rocks at water's

edge subsiding at day's end into the night, and in an instant
uproots trees and brings down
power lines and flattens trailer parks,

and leaves a trail of misery and hopelessness?
oh, capricious wind,
you are a mystery— a volatile enigma,

sometimes gentle, sometimes cruel— where
do you come from, where
do you rest on those days when you abandon

us before you come again to blast us with the biting cold
and bitterness of winter's freezing rain
and driving snow— where do you find solitude?