forecast uncertain -

empathy, like the rain,
cannot be foretold.

charts and graphs may hope to track
the gentle, sloping apogee of
nimbus high
or
snow drift.

but sympathy is not even in the realm of seers,
there are no telepaths
in daylight discussions
and horoscopes
can no longer
lead us, reliably.

so,
lingering in late white gardens
toeing the brick bordered paths,
or crossing the street
with a mantra muttered
and the hope of pinions
could not have prepared me.

it was like rain.

you flinch,
even though you know
it will not hurt you.

you search for cover,
though faith would demand you simply
receive.

when it happened.
I saw
someone, finally,
feeling for
me.





GLS
11.18.98