I don’t know

About you

But I think I do . . .

You do not like

The clouds so much

As when the sun shines through.

Still the sun

Some days demurs

As clouds surely come

Cover it in passing

Blunt its hopeful sum.

When deftly do

The shadows fall

Impede and dark the light

Pull shade on hopeful heart,

Strain out no matter might.

We stare

For we suspect

The sun is surely there

Behind the roiling storm

We live within its care.

Yet we fail

As come the clouds

To see beyond the feign

Impenetrable doubt prevails

No hope, no light, no rain.

We look down

We stumble

Forget how sure the sun

Drawn to clods of earth

More certain than the one . . .

Who

Made the sun

The way way beyond

Serenity in uncertainty

Our way already won.