Solitary dark 
the air pushes                       ..aside   
 
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette  
 
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.  
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.  
When struck a lightning rod emits a ballet of dust and solution, a chemical isomer that goes itself and turns over in our thoughts as a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.