Stare into eyes of shivering squirrel on
wrong side of glass, neighbor’s patio doors.
As bay encroaches upon what was lawn,
small skeletons ponder newly formed shores.
Before this storm, you feared the man inside
who roamed the woods with you, these exact words
same time, same walk , “we keep meeting like this,
people will talk.” When the flooding occurred,
bay entered unannounced, scurried to his
elevated two-story house. While you stare
in the eye of a shivering squirrel, hear
a spouse explain the disappearance there
inside of his cerebellum, a hurricane cleared
away trees of knowledge, every name.
Small skeletons suffer these storms the same.