I FOR SURE

I want you to know that
I don’t understand why the rain
Makes my face wet when it touches.

Does it have to touch?

Whose hand guides nature?
Is the cause of blowing leaves,
Of falling leaves,

That scatter like thin seeds,
Seen as veiled hope for next season?

I don’t fully understand the seasons.
They run, not like children
But aged men of old, wizened by wisdom,

Calloused by experience and passing time.
All will come to pass, yet who knows the
Direction the wind will blow?

I for sure do not.

17.41
5/11/05