hunted

the wind is alive, today.

it moans and batters the walls of my house

like it means to find a way in.

like it wants to peel the roof off

and let the rain sink into the carpets

to let it become rotted

like the graveyard of leaves i find

every time i step outside.

did you know leaves can die?

did you know they leave a body behind?

a shadow of itself - a carved out impression

outlined in black rot and winter depression.

the wind wants my bones, i fear.

the way it howls for blood, frantic mess

of voices scraping at my house in

desperation and despair.

i'm afraid it wants me to rot with the leaves.

i'm afraid it's carnivorous

and it won't rest until my body is

a carcass in the stone -

hunted out of house and home.

it makes me wonder aloud

could i die

if the wind finds me alone?