Joanna M. Weston

snowflakes howl down the sky
shrieking separation from clouds

wind tosses orphans
into banks of loneliness

this the culmination
of a night crashed and bruised
by onslaughts of weather
that sounds like turbulent children
banging saucepans
or chasing holocausts of vampires
across cauldrons of heaved lava

while I cower
under bedclothes
and pray mercy
from the clash of titans
beyond my window