I didn’t need a t.v. weatherwoman.
I knew it was cold from information
gathered from the seat of my pants
as I sat on an iron bench on campus
in love with Mae.
How did I know it was love I was in,
and how did I know it was Mae?
A pilot, relying on weather reports,
data gathered from Doppler radar,
barometers and thermometers,
wind speed, precipitation, visibility,
if he is experienced and any good,
flies as well by the seat of his pants.
He has flown this make and model,
learned flying the plane by feel,
subtle rattles, faint vibrations,
the hum and mood of the airplane.
Only an experienced pilot knows
when something feels not right,
meaning something is wrong.
We live by sensational feel
the hot kitchen stove,
the heft of a hammer,
the open refrigerator
as cool light tells you
the door is not closed.
A sock not tight on a foot,
The successful mosquito slap
the resulting blood splotch.
Many things we know about.
The things we know viscerally,
we know beyond about.