The weatherman tells us yet again,
about a stubborn high-pressure ridge
keeping the reluctant showers away.

She always worries about the rain.
Will it be too cold to stand in?
And, of course, will it ever come again?

She wonders aloud to me,
with apprehensive humor,
“Why can’t we find a way
to move the pressure ridge
out into space so the rain can be free
to do as it should?”

Her challenge is how I know
we will be okay together,
because I’ve found someone
whose heart I can’t get out of my head.