Occupy Haiku

Occupy. It means:
to do things differently.
No more – and no less.

Ready or not

Change swirls around me, a rising tide.
Comfortable in water, I float easily, watching, wading, immersed.
I see islands of indomitable resistance flooded.
I am swept past battered shores.
Nothing is untouched, nothing is spared.
Only those of courage, confidence and conviction will forget about the wet,
and remember to look up –
at the everpresent sky.

Chinook

The clouds look as stormy as I feel.
They too, rush with frantic energy.
The Chinook has come – that wild warm wind that melts the snow ferociously.
Fierceness is in the air.
The snow lays lumped about, forlorn islands of black grit.
The landscape is brackish – or what I imagine brackish would be like, had it a landscape to fill – dull, frothing, a clamorous vapor of change.
People walk quickly, heads down, clutching hats and hoods.
I look up into the sky, hair flying, and face the full whipping force.
This wind seems to have come just for me – to comfort, to mirror, to trumpet.
This breath whispers secrets in a great voice.
The many-grayed sky is the texture of lace.
It wraps me up and whisks me away.
There is no withstanding this wind.
As I round the corner it howls, battering me.
It tells me in no uncertain language that it will not let me go – its work, sculpting me, is not yet done.
It flings dust into my face and grips me with gnarled fingers.
I stand stock still.
And into the faintest pause of its fury, I take a step.
Its fingers are reduced to plucking as I wrestle the door open.
Both of us are disappointed to let each other go.