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Within a Howling Wind
By Nathaniel Goldberg
Copyright 2000 Nathaniel Goldberg
A poem about the wind and death.

She comes
winding her way through trees,
across meadows, breaking apart shutters,
seeping beneath floor boards,
lifting dust, leveling hearts,
as she spreads
into rooms. She takes you
by surprise as an
April freeze.
You plead for
her to stop-
hide beneath sheets and
bed covers,
a place she can not touch,
or so you think .
Dying in London differs from dying in New York.
Dying in London is sophisticated,
headlights from carriages cut through fog
in waves. Puffs of smoke tumble down
streets and into empty alleyways.
dying in New York borders on boredom.
So there you lie,
beneath the bed covers
waiting for the end
listening to the wind howl.
She knows you are trying to hide.
When death finally appears
you cannot escape.