The storm brews afar in the sea

We can’t run and we know it

You’re worried, or so you say

And look into my eyes searching for answers

I am no library — I illustrate no dances

That would soothe the wind god

Or potions that can make you fly

So we would not have to breathe

The dust of our ruined house

No, I have no method to save our cattle

The shepherd dogs all ran away

They know when to abandon a lost cause

Nor is there an oracle, or a wise neighbour lady

No champion from a prophesy

To come and save us

With art, tricks or bravery

You look at me again, this time

With cold understanding in your eyes

There is no running

The winds will take our home

The water will take our cattle

And in that fluidic graveyard

Our bodies will lie neck deep

But as long as you want to draw breath

After the storm has come and gone

I will laugh in the face of death

And spit at the feet of the wind god.