Tremble

I'm just waiting for the storm to pass
here in this glass room where I see everything,
but can't touch it.
With cold sheets up to my cheeks,
I'm trying not to scream
when the walls tremble
and the sky whips and cries,
because this will be over soon-
the tempest of this transition-
and then it will be morning.

_______

If I just let it pass,
yes, the gutters will fill
and the wreckage will spill;
It will be a big old mess- I'm sure,
but at least, when I open my door,
I'll see it all and I can clean it up
rather than try to catch these drops
on my tongue one by one
as they fall.  Missing me.