what goodness what pleasure
to be windowed by fog by rain
to be shut in
to be shut out
of the crowd, of the road
of the human mess.

Sometimes it sings, this mess,
and sometimes I dance.

There has been an embrace.
One here.  One there, smiling.

But the rain!  And the wildest
winds!  And the inscrutable
unknowable fog,

Lao Tze
come to the meadow,
come to the window

existential essence, delight.