Before the storm, all but one

window was boarded up. Beyond it,

palms writhed against vines, a green

-blooded chimera. A girl in a saffron dress

petalled on the floor, palms pressed to the one

window. Crystal sliver cold

as silk separated her skin from a torrent

of nocturnal rain. Shining sinch between her

and the wild, so soft and so sharp. Her mother,

in the other room, cold

under silk. Her mother, a soap

bubble, pushing out the squall. The glazing warmed

against her hands. Her mother, warmed glass

against the darkness. The pane

a narrow glister in the night. The tempest

howled with a deadly kind of love.