Tracking
2nd draft
Long after the wedge roped back
towards the sky
I know it is after me:
It came in close to my earth
on the furrows
and upswept my debris
straight-line winds behind a funnel
am I the farm
intact rotating vertical?
And in that vortex of wind, hail
The track lost,
Doppler beams highlighting the red dot,
I am chased into the notch
I know I’m
alone facing myself,
Convergance of warm dry lines
race at me
caught in dreams dying.
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