There is a storm coming, one can tell.
Dark-light, black-white, blue-grey,
in the sky, all at once,
waltzing billowing clouds,
ozone in the air tickling your nose,
A mist, barely felt, incipient drops.

A gathering darkness, a portent of what?
Whatever it is, there are no words.
A pressure in your ears builds with every breath,
the clouds grow darker, more ominous.

You can turn your back to the storm, but,
do not say you have no cloak, no robe, no coat.
Joseph’s brothers said they did not.
Father loved them, all the same, all the while.
He loves you too.

Everyone is given a garment to cover them,
on the occasion of their birth.
They are all made from one single thread.
Though the thread is One, it is also, only for you.
It can be technicolored or dull, brown or grey,
maybe even invisible, the color is up to you.
Woven in the thread in a different spot for each,
there is fraying, a thinning, where the thread
will unravel, come undone and leave you bare.
That is the dread that each of us has.
Without a robe, a cloak, a coat,
what will protect us, who will we be then?

Hunch your shoulder against the wind,
Pull the collar around your face.
All is of absolutely no avail.
The thread will weaken and snap.
There is nothing you can do.
No need, it all has nothing to do with you!
The cloth is only a covering, an empty husk!

Shrug your shoulders, doff the robe!
Throw off the cloak, with an imperious swirl!
Unbutton the coat and throw it to the ground, with a laugh,
like a silent movie star!
Fly into the eye of the storm fearless and free!