RAINDROPS ON A SKYLIGHT                                                        

Wet wintry day, a feel of February,

I am listening to the flow of the wind,

a lull, a blow, a lull, the patter of

rain on a window above my head

a lullaby by the thousands of drops

just above my head, looking up,

hoping that an adoration will be

payment enough for the privilege,

the privacy of the performance;

each drop a life, like all the rest,

a life to be lived, down here, with the rest,

so each quite lifelike, wants to trickle

into spare space, soon to collide with

all the others, soon to lose it all, alone,

soon to find nowhere left to land, alone;

and so to make a sheet of water, flowing

off the window, down to a gully, down to a gutter,

to plunge, with a rush, down a pipe, down a drain,

into the ground, deep in the soil, deep in our Earth,

into new growth, into my body, into your bones,

feeding our bodies, feeling them flourish,

nourished by raindrops

we watched last year.