AUG 16 3:15/lc

It might be a nightingale.  
A powerful wind wrapped in a fierce darkness.

You look at your words:  
There are only two stories:
Niobe,  turned to stone while weeping for the slain children.
Naomi, returning from the red land after seven years of famine.

A powerful darkness wrapped in a fierce wind.

You look up: a shower of gold.

Blowing over Norway: a galen: mad, furious

notice:
Nothing you resolved to do was done
That,  really, there is only one story

The drag of dog days: in the laps of stone women
seeds of corn
water night leaves behind