Open me
As you would a book.
As you would a window.

Inside me is the wind,
The revenge,
The scent of pine and
Fog rolling as a river.
Inside me is
The captivation of
A word
That slices and so
shifts quick
To mend the wound.

Close me swift,
Put your back into it,
For I can not stop
Once the lock
Is picked.

Should I gather on
For too long,
I’ll tip the houses,
Strip the concrete from the street,
And blow the skin
From your bones;

Aw, my pet,
Wouldn’t that be sweet?