Wind in my head
Throwing branches
Battering my eyes
Erratically roaring

Storm in my head
Turning everything
Grey
Black Dog’s calling

Cyclone in my head
Vision’s blurring
Noises, vivid,
Bouncing black arrows
Everything’s swirling…

Tree’s still standing, tall
Leaves rustled
Trunk robust.
Intact. Solid. Distinct.

Black Dog will. Not. Win.