There go the daffodils drooping
as tulips open over wilting leaves.
An afternoon sky, chill and cheerless,
drops in a cold drizzle dripping
freely given glistening pearls.

The world works in wetness
needing neither my attention or care.
My fleeting form in its fields fades
into the evening’s twilight,
dissolves into the ocean’s night.

Seek shelter where you may.
Nap, dream, wake to a window full
of world spin, star revolve, sun set.
Stay out of the way, lie low, listen.
What will come is coming whether
I wish to hurry it ploddingly along
or stand in its bewildering way.
My wandering through the dripping garden
or along my mind’s fog-laden pathways 
will not deter the wet world,
catch its fall, change its course.
What may be is that, blind fool,
I may fall, caught slip-sliding away
if care is not the watchword of my day.

Portland, Oregon – Eve of a birth day, April 16, 2019