I met a tornado on the bridge
The river, my friend, stared back:
“Why did you think I’d be gentle?”
Knowing the river, I smiled a laugh.
That smile was torn from my face
Tossed back to the river,
Those eyelids spread open, like wings
Fleeing the winding wrath.
The tornado was lonely
She wanted, she asked
But the only sound that I heard:
The hissing of leaves at my back.
I met a tornado on the bridge
