The sky is light, close to night,
there are cotton ***** stetched
thin across the sky, darker than
a black eye.

Somehow, somewhere the dog knows,
lightening strikes and thunder grows
louder with an unheard rumble,
sniff the air.

Charged with eccentric electricity,
this moment, this night typing
in the shadowed keyboard,
there is no more sunlight.

We just had sunset on the west coast,
storm clouds move to the north and
to the south of where the window
panes act as lenses and the wind
plays in branches, laughing.

The storm may pass, or the wind may tear and
toss and bend the trees, break the boughs with
no mercy, the dog may tremble through
moments of blinding bright lightening
and rumbling thunder but she
won't be alone, no not tonight.