This morning’s hailstorm of queries
clatters my tin roof skull.
Its brain-penetrating din,
like a cold-ache jack-hammer,
rings its throbbing presence.

Come afternoon,
the wind blusters total chaos,  
billowing my patience so taut,
the pegs strain the guy ropes,
tugging at the grip
of the quaking ground beneath.

By day’s end all energy is spent.
I stare broken. A daze. Nothing.
Except you at my side.
Everything.
And I am pieced back together
for tomorrow.