by Gabriel Welsch

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We know, now—
			nothing

the unseen can willow 
water   	a building wind 
whips to a copter-whisk
wayward and vicious

Hunch where little grows 
in the dismal, the dour
	mold moving in multiples 

Homes have a hide—so many 
	trees and limbs a shady thatch 
that lisps the omen

—what we don’t see
	the threat we imagine—
  the possible not a comfort, 
     the impossible crouching 
	in too favorable odds

when the wind goes 

	funnel 

		funnel		funnel 

funnel

	   funnel 
				rip—

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Gabriel Welsch is the author of a collection of short stories, Groundscratchers, and four collections of poems: The Four Horsepersons of a Disappointing Apocalypse, The Death of Flying Things, An Eye Fluent in Gray, and Dirt and All Its Dense Labor. His work has appeared widely, in journals including Ploughshares, Southern Review, THRUSH, Harvard Review, Moon City Review, Lake Effect, Missouri Review, as well as on Verse Daily and in Ted Kooser’s column “American Life in Poetry.” Welsch lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with his family, and works at Duquesne University.