storm

you rose this morning
red eyed
and
remembering the tears
I caused you.

pillow streaked lightly
with dark lightning,
like dried riverbeds,
runs wildly
along the banks 
of where your head
rested.

last night 
there was a storm.

and it moved
from high to low pressure
into your dreams –
and never cooled,
completely.

the dredged bottom
of displaced
words and
feelings
were left lying
on the floor.

what 
fell out of
our clouds
still remains
too deep
to purge.

nothing 
is picked up
yet.

I stood,
at the door –
seeing the winds
move through you, 
crashing over you,
and then
leaving you
in the morning
looking for precious 
pieces from before
the storm.

for now
the search
will reveal little.
and apart
from breakage
and sharp things,
there is no whole
to hold.