No one saw the tornado
stripping acres of farmland
until it found houses to divide.
We ran in every direction
so we would not fall in that funnel.

It took my birthday cake
and my new bicycle.
Those candles never had a chance
to see me hover
over their soft blades.

I was prepared to be taken
by a wall of dirt and lumber
going hundreds of miles per hour.
I had nothing left in my lungs
to send to the stars.

My glasses were yanked from my face
so what remained was a dark blur
between my fingers,
through which I saw each of my toys
being ground up.

How does the sky know
when to stop sending down
against our wishes?
I’ve studied it from a window
that held the light

until I could see none of it
disappearing behind the clouds.
I walked out where a door once stood
into a field and called out for anyone
who had seen a flying bicycle.