Behind his eyes,
blue as the sky on a summer day,
turmoil churns like
a wall cloud before the tornado drops.
To decipher the emotional landscape
is to probe the depths of uncharted territory.
Iím no cartographer.
I tread gently, blindly.
I fumble as I try to read the Braille of his psyche;
but, I canít see past the shadows.
His highs and lows rise and dip
like an unstable weather pattern
where sunshine belies the coming storm.
A bright smile and clear eyes can spin off
into ominous gales.
I reach for the shards of light. Perhaps
a clue, perhapsÖ
Too quickly the shadows appear, again.
Just when I think I can forecast the
triggers, pinpoint the offending cloud,
the light shifts and Iím caught
in the clarity of my ignorance.
~~~ Pam Patterson © 2006