The wind is our great white hope in "Heat." It's what will save us from sweating to death. One of the coolest (pun very much intended) things about H.D. is her ability to make us anticipate—to feel or even see—a wind that isn't even in the poem. (Remember, folks, that our speaker just calls to a wind that doesn't exist. It never actually arrives.) The power of H.D.'s language is palpable, as we yearn for the non-existent wind so much that we can feel it.