the night cracks open
at four in the morning

a tree fell out back
gusts push and press

against the house
the windows protest

a tree is still falling, or
maybe just a large branch

the absolute black
distorts perception—

a shot and its retort
as the thing comes down

sharp, profane, maybe more
than one thing

maybe the night itself
scaffolding collapsing

the rush of wind obscures
any easy answer