Involuntarily, like the blink of blue eyes –
the emotions of the woman I love
play about her face, much as the weather
that rules the skies above us both
determines the set of the land beneath –
dry, wet, shadowed, sunlit, dulled,
petrichoral after a spell of warmth; and oh,
the clarity of the air after a cold front passes!
When I look into her cumulus, I see it all –
the love, lightning, distant thunder rumbling,
that trace of stone; not knowing what to do
nor even sometimes where to look.
The draw that rejoins our eyes is magnetic –
but the sorrow, the distance, the separateness
makes me wonder, should I finally make
the monumental effort it would take
to let her go, to let her be at one with her world –
watch her melt away like cirrus on a summer’s day.
But then she sunshine-smiles, blows a palmed kiss
and I cannot do it. I cannot be without her weather.
* I suppose that I might have written this poem at any time over the last five or six years. But for what it’s worth, it actually arrived more or less fully formed in the days immediately following Friday 23rd September of this year.