Photo by Loren Gu on UnsplashTyphoon Eye
Whetted sun cuts through three days of sheet rain
like wasabi root through congestion, or
your done swimming; coming home text through my
mental codex of ways you might be drowned.
Polaroid hasn’t yet trademarked this light
uncapturable on film or paper
casting auras around neighbors trading
niceties and netflix suggestions while
dogs spring with potential energy stored
in their haunches from days on the sofa.
You ask whether I saw the storm downed two
frangipani, winking for noticing,
kissing me out of a movie, like we’ve
been waiting, for a lull in the typhoon.
