The gnawing wind had shape.
Remember how the wind once hunted us?
How it sought our bones to form its fangs?
That night when it cut you out from the others,
how it began to eat you - even as you talked and walked.
You did not mention its mouth upon you,
the others grew quiet also -
we all now fought an unleashed monster.
The wind took shape in our minds,
took its time to whittle and skive
each exposed apprehension down to a whimper.
Then the icy tunneling of claws,
the hint of wolfish sounds in the stabbing air.
Then the benumbed trek,
then a door opened,
then the warm interior lights.
We shook off our thawing fears,
there where the chill-killer
could not follow,
yet sensed that where the wind had bit,
we were still hollow
still so hollow.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020