It’s the silence that wakes me in the end.

The wind’s final gasp as it gives way to hush,
the thunder’s last groan as it shakes from the sky,
the rain’s waning beat at the end of the flush,
the fire’s closing streak as it lights its goodbye.

The absence of noise is my nudge into waking,
the alarm of my slumber garners no cruel beeps,
for in the pith of the storm’s cracking and quaking
is the only night hour in which I can sleep.