For a Dear Friend

These birds wheeled overhead the other day

That roiling mass of moisture

Of bound up tears

That drifts across this spinning ball,

Of mutable fortunes.

Sometimes unbinding

A gentle rain…or a flood,

But not to be predicted or controlled.

Just endured.

And so I stand, looking up,

While the drops course down my face

Never ending,

But all the while searching…

Searching for little patches of sunshine.