Doppler shift

The two of us on the couch in silence
before our words lined up in sentences, waves
pushed out by bats, approximate distances
as the consummate meteorologist over her radar
sketches the trace of trouble, the face
of an ex-convict run away from his sentence,
a storm witnessed by survivors with tears
streaming, torrents of rain reported
on the screen she's watching as the red
line, a clock's hand, colors the prediction,
the button pushed to sound the sirens
to say the storm is coming and like madmen
they'll run to get away from the sentence
on the screen with the meteorologist moving
her hands in a circle, the circling
of blind animals feeding, the swirl of clouds and
shiftlessly I reach out to you and place my hand on yours.