Veronica's Veil

(Somewhere in Joplin, Missouri.)

Leaves gone, lassoed
off the trees last night
by a rope of wind.

No birds. Only
bridges of debris
as she climbs barefoot
out of the basement,

her hair falling
dark, filmy
as twilight mist
that might be twisted
into a rag
of agony as she finds
the storm's breath
gusting once again,

and nothing
familiar but a glass
shaker gleaming in dirt.

Spilled of salt,
the clear bottle
catches lght
cringing between clouds

and she thinks
of the lost mineral
that might cure

any strength left --
raw, strung-up
to rot in the moist air.