Poem of the week: The Man in the Wind by Anne Stevenson

‘This night of the uncreated / where the wind’s wind, loosened by his sleep / to the force of itself, / moves without meaning or being’ … Photograph: justinstokes/Getty Images/RooM RF

The Man in the Wind

The man in the wind
who keeps us awake tonight
is not the black monk of the wind
cowering in corners and crevices,
or the white face under the streetlight
stricken with the guilt of his noise,
or the great slapping hand of the wind
beating and beating the rainy alleyways
while the torturer proceeds with the interrogation
and the prisoner’s risen voice
bleeds over cymbals and timpani.