These atmospheric river storms just keep on happening. The poems keep on coming. This was from the storm a couple of weeks ago. The poem is new and might change form eventually. I need to sit with it for longer.

We had storm wind force water in under our patio doors to leak on the hardwood floors. Many wet towels. But we have maintained our electrical power. I measured the trajectory of the trees in the park across from the house to see if I could guess if they would strike us if they fell over in the next storm. Maybe.

Spring is coming!

Composition of Storm

High Winds Alert in San Francisco 

blowing up mid-day. 

Midnight and early morning squalls 

of foreboding blow through my dreams.

I wake to creaks and chimney vibrations.

Trying to squeeze in a walk between appointments

I drive to the Presidio National Park.

Branches of trees are wildly tossing. 

Wind battering, rough and gusty.

Beneath the wind rush and eucalyptus branches, 

an almost subliminal sound vibrates. 

Filling the sky from the northwest,

a high drone, a metallic violin

relentlessly bowed, the note shading off key 

into dissonance and back

The gale wind through Golden Gate Bridge cables,

between side rails — moans.

A colossal tuning fork pushing out sound waves. 

Maybe the steel and wire is not lamenting to the wind

but to us.  Keening —

the bridge iron’s ore wrested from the ground,

smelted, drawn and quartered. 

But I believe the storm is composing in sonic language. 

The atmospheric river plays the bridge strings —

accompaniment for wind howl, lightning sizzle,

percussion of hail and claps.