Weatherman's Advice

Opposites in my head-space:

hot and cold, high and low pressure

colliding at will, mercurial,

changing in a broken rhythm

impossible to count or predict

with the cutting wind of worry

the only constant.

So much to get right, wrong

that it is easier to take the

weatherman's advice and

seek shelter until further notice,

to withdraw, turn inward,

become the observer, spotter,

watcher rather than participant

as what swirls behind my eyes

seems an alien language

or stratospheric music

sung by spirits beyond

angel-demon dichotomy

for this bewildered audience

of one, seeking the cool, dry

air of calm and patience,

but knowing that the root

of temperate is shared

with temporary.