Wind scrapes the sky’s blue face clean of clouds but offers me little clarity. Hurricanes, tornadoes, tropical depressions: I thought I knew wind. But this wind is wind without water, hot hairdryer blast, 100-day-wind without rain. Eyeless alias, parched Hurricane, it hurls trashcans in the street, calls coral-colored scorpions to my door. Wind, stealing breath and whisking words away, what have you to say about permanence? Wind and water? Rock to sand? Do you sing of destruction as a form of creation, or provide proof of tumbleweeds — and nothing more? Hurricane wind, rippling flags that signify smallness, insignificance. Semaphore of erosion and disappearance, let me see you simply — as do peaches ripening in impossible orchards. Show me endless sky and darkness; reveal pinpoints of light.