Droplets gather and slide
up and then down slightly
then run up and over –
The pour to my eyes is a thousand memories
of more and more rain,
and the slightest droplets gather them all.
Standing in a mist, late morning grave,
solemn pats of heavy splats
the trees outdoing us with sliding,
coalescing dew, our runny emotions
being sometimes dry, forget what it’s like to be wet.
Entirely evaporated, the quick spit
falls summer haste to the process.
No memories collect, recollect
just watch the water shrink,
Art by James Chamber