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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.