It is morning, I hear the sky tearing
Itself apart, cloud limb from limb in gales.
No longer early and I wake to start
On clattering bailiff windows, so alert
I reach for reasons that are known, yet scrawl
Them down for comforts sake, before the dawn.
Brings snarling chainsaw, stripping thickened trunks
Straddling giants, that deem us fit for air
That sings through palings, sallies down the stair
Audible in its vociferous bawl
It fills the heads of those inside with fear
Trembling as the shimmer on the shore
Turning a great ship, property of the sea-
Plaything for night tides and the dauntless moon
That set the clashing waves about this place,
The house becomes a howling mythic beast
That air, on which all our lungs long to feast
Day by day, has come to say its piece
And no benevolent voice among the meek
With strength enough to sing through tearing sail
Will reason with the thunderous lashing voice
That comes now, looking for her final claims
To valleys, boroughs and suburban plains
That once, were empty, listening to the wind
(That ushered calm over the rasping waters)
And swayed gentle, or creaked and bowed, humbled
By what they knew: empire indifferent,
Arbitrary ruler of the gum-trees-
The same that crashes through the slums of man
Brought back, by sudden calm, I hear far off
Another siren song along the streets
Between the great roars, now in slow retreat
Yet hear it rearing in the hills again
And strain to look above the parapet
To see the untamed thing roaring above
And senses strike me, lest I should forget
To rise and meet those faces that I love
