The wind rises at three a.m.
still drunk as it rushes about
looking for things to stir up.
It snakes the orange and pink bougainvilleas
as it reshuffles their geometry.
It blusters at the Manila palm
who bend and bow
as it howls at the front door
demanding to be let in.
It spews loose sediment
as it turns away
relentless and finally settles
on a blade of grass
and lifts it up
skipping it across the driveway.
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