It’s storming ugly, hard and dark,
The world’s asleep but I am not:
I feel the burn of questioning,
For empty searching’s all I’ve got —
A roof and walls, the din outside:
The hours small, the answers few —
The thunder echoes through the sky,
And I am left with much to do,
But maybe I’m not meant to be
An answerer. For it is plain
That I’m not wider than my heart,
And I’m not bigger than
The rain
