A thunderstorm is trundling in along the interstate. / The sky is the color of pondwater, filled / with clouds, pink with dust, / sliding, colliding, gathering / in rows like abacus beads. / The air is full of seasalt, and sweatsalt, / and lightning riding dry. / Crackling leaves as big as my fist skate along my path. / They fall like sparrows, and the wind / walks down my spine, pushing / me home, and to you.