Tornado

Across the entire map of our ordered life
     The dark finger lifts. It leaves nothing
    To our imagination, and at last
         It is defiantly and nakedly revealed
              As something simple, a force of nature.
             But strangely we cannot quite see it.
              It is there as a tower of cloud
         Across the squared plain like a chess piece.
    Lifting cows and houses, it turns, stubborn and wilful,
     And lofts the splinters it has finished with.
How it stamps on all the fences!
     Everyone in hiding. No one to see
    The damage surrounding the centre.
         That buzzing stillness is defined by
    The damage surrounding the centre.
     Everyone in hiding. No one to see
How it stamps on all the fences
     And lofts the splinters it has finished with,
    Lifting cows and houses. It turns stubborn and wilful
         Across the squared plain like a chess piece.
        It is there as a tower of cloud,
             But strangely we cannot quite see it
        As something simple, a force of nature.
           It is defiantly and nakedly revealed
    To our imagination. And at last
     The dark finger lifts. It leaves nothing
Across the entire map of our ordered life.