I keep waiting for something to go wrong -
for those first few raindrops
to splatter and shatter the sunshine.

But they won't. It continues fine
through the months and seasons, and
I'm starting to worry. I can't help it -
because the longer the drought,
the crueler the storm. I think about you
all the time, in a semi-state
of panic, and wait frantically for fate
to intervene. The problem - the only one I see -
is the lack of problems. Because this
calm period can only possibly be
a run up to a crash; the gods intend to smash
our far-too-happiness soon.