Benediction for the Wind (on the occasion of a killer tornado)

What better way to
get people praying
than to remind us
of random chance?

What better way than
the cold logic of air
rising, falling, killing

here, not there;
this one, not that.

Where I come from
we name them
by a year: 2011,
1957, 1925, and
remember deaths,
695, 255, 12.

What better way for
the screaming winds
to set us praying
than the cold logic
of random chance?

What better way
to hold sanity and
loved ones close than
to set to praying?

Where I come from
we know the scream
of the green clouds
well; we know to hug
the floor close; where
I come from the wind
teaches us to pray.

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