we are hidden inside while it thunders when you call for me, in the three o'clock dark of my room, I roll off and curl fetal on the far side of the bed to test your temper. You come in, the dog's eyes are sharper but the sound of your voice fills the room. You run along my aggravate silence, horse feet searching the house, the creak of the family room floorboard, the bare slap on kitchen tile, the rattled shower curtain, a burst into the closet - your timbre gains an edge of question. The screen door crash as you check the porch, that last spot, just sheltered, where after dark, we sometimes dull the day. Now, I am a cruel hone even to your silence. From the rack you gather your jacket, sheathing thin bones, turn back outside. I count your steps watch your back rise and reclaim you. Where were you going? To look for you. Were you worried? YES! I tell him I will never leave him a large lie to tell a small boy, who stood looking for me, foot-soaked in the downpour, his hand upon the gate.