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.

I’m no cartographer.

I tread gently, blindly.

I fumble as I try to read the Braille of his psyche;
but, I can’t 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, perhaps…

Too quickly the shadows appear, again.

Just when I think I can forecast the
triggers, pinpoint the offending cloud,

the light shifts and I’m caught

blinking,

       helplessly

in the clarity of my ignorance.

~~~ Pam Patterson © 2006