Bite so deep you vibrate my bones when you try to speak.

There’s a storm wall inbound. I’m swimming through the air to get home— dodging little green mantis men & the fallen black and purple dappled butterflies with their hind wings stuck out like curved plane tails.

The pressure is charging— the island alive with static. The flicks of charge seen in scrambled errands and a fleet of taxis. Last minute ferries and plane flights. Arrival or departure— the storm consumes us all.

Idle water jugs and dry stock cans— a clean kitchen floor for a last minute refuge.

No AC for fear of the wind wrenching the blades in the wrong direction.

Boiling before sun break amidst empty howls.

Turn the cold valve on the faucet to receive water warm enough to bathe in.

I haven’t used the hot water in three months— it burns in this weather.

Nothing less than living— a good storm reminds us.