The First Raindrop
Before sleep,
I heard the tinkering of rain
and it made me wonder.
Where did the first raindrop fall?
On garden, chalk or tarmac path?
In quiet kinship with the ocean?
Bouncing off the shoes of drunken love?
Ahead the fray of cloudburst,
succumbed in gravity of night?
Before, somewhere.
You MUST have felt, or seen, or heard.
The velocity of a solitary liquid crown,
shattering diamond-like in impact tears.
The lead in winter’s swarm.