A little less tonight

On your rooftop after a difficult and locked-up Sunday, a working day,
as you see lightning snap its fingers at the sky over palm tree tops,
You can't tell if you're thirty or seventeen.

But the wind seems as willed as you are uncertain
as it blows to wrap around you
You have to touch to make sure all your ache nerves are still there.

A lone raindrop falls on your face, though it's not raining,
tells you it's raining somewhere, and spilling over,
Spilling over to spoil your neat night arrangements.

For all the rain and wind, you flicker a little less tonight.
After days of silent violence,
You start talking peace with the world again.