there is a pitter-patter
of witching hour
rainfall on the window
pane. a deep
and profound thunder,
the kind that made
our ancestors fear
the wrath
of imaginary gods,
resounds—
unfolding
across Tallahassee
hills, shaking
itself out of existence.

heat lightning
unfurls its tendrils
across a violent sky
illuminating
my bedroom
like a ******’s
spotlight. my dog
whimpers absently
in his sleep. i envy
him his nightmares.
what i wouldn’t give
to slip beneath.