I speak to you like you can hear me.
I say, “Jesus, that beech tree’s going to fall
over isn’t it.” The tree in that wall
of wind that brings the storm. You would be
unimpressed, I think. So little impressed 
you. You liked rich men who said mean things
about poor people. I remember you laughing
at them. I don’t think you’d be moved by the wind.
Although, what do I know? You often surprised 
us all, a moment of insight, humanity
that time I flunked German class. The way you
pointed at a bald eagle once that rode
the thermals and then dove down quickly.
You said, “My God.” I’d never seen you so moved.