this cold wind rocks me like the hands of criminal intent

from under sheets, this morning, in the still dusky hours
wrapped in soft moments caught between sleep and wake
the wind growled at my window like a forest on fire
even sleep couldn’t hold the increasing light at bay
or the call from the police
several hours later
running through the rooms of this empty house
still naked and wet from the shower
the rest of the day felt slanted
cold
like fighting headlong against the strength of the gale