Pretending

It is beyond
my power to control
anything that’s 
about to happen. 

Beyond my power
to affect the weather.
Beyond any power
I could borrow or buy.

Close to powerless
in a powerful wind
making things happen
without me.

I could stand still
and let it whip past me.
I could find myself 
standing strong,

or blown over. 
Lying there after,
standing there after,
wondering what voice

I was hearing. I think
it was the rubble left behind
praising me.  Either that
or it was the rubble accusing me. 

Whatever I’ve heard singing
has nothing to do with me
but it is beyond my power
to convince myself otherwise,

and so I am immobile,
and so I remain exactly 
where I have always been,
pretending to agency.