Climate

It felt familiar, your mouth moving 
            up my side like a gale warning. My 
                        arm calico—mammatus clouds—
            blood brought to the surface. 
Now I understand my childhood
            home. Releasing shingle after shingle
                        into the brutal air. Our front door 
            torn and flat in the yard. Violent 
gusts whipping through the marshes—
            the back of your hand. 
                        Of what I have unlearned
            this was the hardest. 
One sandpiper singing 
still, desire does not 
                        have to leave you
            ruined.