[DanaC]

Last one then I'll stop, I promise


Memory

Some
kind,
of strange day;

matters
are scattered,
every which way.

I
can't,
speak for the,
wind that,

blows through here;
with its,
savage roar, and

hungry jaws.

Scours
as,
it glides; takes
away
what it hides...

....impudent breeze.