People talk in fluttering prayers and sometimes sonnets. If I were more patient I would write a sonnet for Kalene. She thrashes around her bed so I try to make a soft nest of prayers. The rain outside makes the air shimmer like silver paper. I would cool her if I could. I would ease whatever it is that makes her leg shake at night and kick the wall. I would write a perfect sonnet for her that would knit all the parts of her together. The broken parts of herself and all the things she knows chase each other around under her skin. God, please come down and referee her nerves. Please rub her back and her feet. I open the window and she kicks the wall in her sleep. The rain comes in and she still kicks. I sing You're sweet Kalene, You're beautiful, and You're mine. She doesn't hear me.