When the rain comes

The rain comes in sheets,
rapping against the
windows as I try to sleep,
this night stretching out into
morning so I do not know
even with eyes open in which
day I am, feeling the wet
fingers tapping on me and
inside and out -- waking to
wonder and doubt, feeling
the stern clouds behind my
eyes and the crack of lightning
in my loins, aching for
something more than sleep can
provide -- the tick tick tick
of a clock I cannot clearly
see, only hear, and feel
along with my heart beat
I ham shrouded in doubt
and worry over things I can
not pin down -- each thought
like a buzz of a mosquito
in my hers and in the fear
of when it might bite.