I
Drag me across the beach,
leaving ruts that reveal the past;
the deep gardens
covering the stones with salt and glass

II
The long wind teasing
a window that is old and broken,
with time and the seasons
carved deep into its rotting mold

III
The storm that washes
dirt from lonely corner to the street;
steadily growing, strongest
when the asphalt is at peace.

IV
I invite them to bathe
me in their brilliance
of tornadoes and whirlpools;
defiant, resilient.