I cannot claim possession of the rain

I had plans we never spoke of
Which evaporate now
Off the flat plain of the future
To condense elsewhere
For someone else
Some others else
To rain on their parades
Or saturate their deserts with love
And perhaps some of this precipitation
Will fall again for me
Or fall again for her.

I cannot claim possession of the rain
Nor forecast the weather
Or foretell the future
Tell dry spells from wet
It is a mystery to me
Why the clouds come and go.

I write my name
In the mist on the window
And peer through the letters
To perceive
What is written outside
I trace a heart
In a separate pane
And watch it bleed
Down to the frame