First read:
soulmates.

Second read:
weather.

Back then the shouting sounded like fire.
Now it sounds like wind
moving through a house
that never learned to close.

Somewhere in the book she says
I am Heathcliff.

People call that romance.

Listen again.

It isn’t love.

It’s recognition
with the lights off.

Two storms
standing very still

realizing

the sky
is coming
from inside the room.

Field Note

Whatever our souls 
Are made of,
His and mine are
The same.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;-Emily bronte (Wuthering heights)