Rhymes with uncertainty

In memory of Wisława Szymborska* on her 100. birthday

In a news clip, a tornado
rips through a village,
sucks a red, wooden house into the air,
tears it into a swarm of debris, which
circles around the funnel, and then
dissipates.

I see a loose flock of swifts crisscrossing the sky in generous loops.
Surely these birds are made of star stuff,
likely some of their atoms once where in you, and
perhaps they write in Polish.

---

*Wisława Szymborska, 2 July 1923 – 1 February 2012