I like storms.

After the strike

the cat remains. The phone will not hang up
but keeps an inviting tone. She doesn't dial,
but checks on the dog who has given up

under the table. The house is unscathed.
It steams. She is hesitant around objects
which could connect back to the sky's

temper but eventually dials her home from
home: there is nothing but layers of notes
in one long insistent tone. The cat remains.