It’s steamy in the southern Keys tonight.
Her air is thick. She tastes of salty fog.
A quiet’s fallen with no birds in sight.
Her ocean swells; she’s pregnant with resolve.
Her palms turn, twist and wave a hula skirt
fall quickly back as wind subsides beneath.
She hesitates; a flash begins to flirt;
as light’ning promises some stiffer teeth.
Expectant, gray light pushes down our beach:
a rising, higher tide begins to form
of something coming just before the breach.
A quieter wind wavers ‘fore the storm.
She’s here! She’s pushed a new-born screaming child;
she’s grown a full-blown wind to squall awhile !