It had been a quiet morning
before words collided, chilly
as the temperature dropped
between them. Neither expected
the volume, their roar. They anchored
in a hurry, hid behind interior
walls as a squall blew through—
mean enough to shove
their house into the lake.
Over the bay, sleeves
of lightning tore the sky,
shredded a hickory tree. Tinder
and rain rode the wind
sideways. No one saw the kids
drop the jet skis into the water
to wrangle the waves. They bucked
and bounced out of the cove.
After the storm blew over,
dinner was served, usual time.
Someone clicked the TV and flipped
channels. No one said a word
about the rain or remnants that scarred
more than the landscape.