Shiva, 2

 ​all night long the wind, an insane
giant smashing shit
I fear for the morning
all the spread-eagled things:
squirrels in their shredded crepe-
nests of leaves and twigs;
on a thin branch tiny kinglets 
shivering in rows like dominos
the homeless and their cardboard ribs. 
someday Shiva, when you step
straight down on my chest
even here in a safe, dry home
I hope your foot finds a fat
heart, juicy as a watermelon 
softened in the season
of mad wind.
​