After Midnight Chimes

Thunder grumbles
And softly mutters
But rain has ceased
Its tin pan pudder
And put away its
Drums and puddles.

And now when the slate
Is wiped clean
And wet gray shingles shine,
The sky above me starry
And peace soft as dust
In a mine…

I sit writing a poem
Of need for you
Long after midnight’s chimed,
And fit my feelings
To patterns
And my unruly thoughts
To rhyme.

But why is it I’m able
To see clearly
When you are safe asleep,
Yet when you’re
Awake and before me
Nothing seems clear
Or complete?

And why must I always
Be searching
For the perfect time,
When you are absent
Or sleeping
After midnight chimes?