Drip
'  drip
'    drip
'      drip.
My windows are pockmarked and
the world refracted into a
m i l l i o n  g l a s s y  f r a g m e n t s .
Raindrops come to die here –
they s c a t
'     t e r their souls and return unfulfilled to their heavens.
So I wonder, if snowflakes are individually unique,
'                  special and beautiful,
'           what does it mean that raindrops aren't?

Because if I were a globule of water descended onto Earth,
to coax flowers out of slumber and seeds out of shells,
'  I would question why instead of happiness I manufacture fear;
'         I would ponder the tears of the downtrodden;
'    and I would find a way to fill the vacancy left in their eyes.

Raindrops aren't meant for skirting between eyelashes and
traversing the dunes and valleys of a human face.
We want to
'   rest
on your lips and feel you sigh in worship
at the vastness of the skies and the beauty of a nimbostratus.

Drip
'  drip
'    drip  drip.