Sometimes the wind arrives as an envoy
of distant places:
this one comes as an assault force.
A major part of the day was spent
fetching connectivity to the new studio falt
beneath the bunkhouse.
Even though it involves hardware, cables,
connections and fixings:
it doesn’t feel like work-
somehow insubstantial
like releasing a balloon or chucking a bottle into the sea.
The wind too is an engineer;
has real work in mind.
His job is with the fabric of the house,
stick and stone, glass and metal-
he will unpick it if he can,
crush it if he cannot.
I fall back for refuge in these buildings,
retreat cut off,
to endure the siege.
Meantime the moon has risen over my spire,
and small flickering lights from the new machine
remind me of other worlds
beyond the wind.
