I have stayed away,
kept my distance,
for fear that if I came too close
and opened the door
the tidal wave would erupt,
tearing down the door and the frame
with nothing to stop the water
until it slowed down to a stream.

I thought I needed time,
more lumber and nails,
to build the frame stronger
to make it withstand the force
building.  I could feel it building
against the back of my eyes
within the cage of my chest
around the bones in my hands.

To wait just a while longer
would allow the wave to rescind
and I could open the door just a crack,
letting out the water I wanted,
under my control.
Believed this, I did.

Now, here I stand,
with the door open wide
and only a trickle of water passing
around and over my feet.
The anticipated wave is gone,
and only a small, calm pond lies
in the distance.

I was ready for the wave.
I expected and wanted it.
Still it has not come
leaving my dry skin uncomfortable
like a garden yearning to grow
with the promise of rain
that never delivers.

The wave will come again I know
to not be denied past my door.
I can only guess when or where
but I will be there
armed with paper and a pen.