He has heard of an island within a lake, within an island, within an ocean. He wakes up to gray morning coming on outside. There is no coffee. Across the alley, his neighbor’s dog complains. Jesus listens to what it means to be chained. He pours orange juice and turns on the news. Everyone is going to die. He knows the sun is up, but clouds keep shadows tucked away. With California in his mouth, he watches the weather reporter wave her arms from west to east, as if this explains everything. The warming waters of the Pacific have twisted Tornado Alley. Again, he thinks of that island within the lake, within the island, within the ocean. He knows this is where the locusts beat their gossamer wings, their threads heating the jet stream. This is where the frogs begin.