Where the Droplets Land


United States
42° 12' 30.7296" N, 84° 24' 24.3396" W

It's so much work
for the sprinkling rain
to pepper the windshield of this car,
yet it only takes
the wiper's blade -
one pass - and now, it's void of water.

Each drop's a head
in a growing crowd;
a newborn drop is a camera flash,
and I'm the one
that they applaud
a clapping hand with every splash...

They echo once, and then they're flat.

Elder drops
loom overhead.
They've escaped the wiper's blade.

When they grow thick,
they plow a path
into the newer drops of rain,

and leave it empty in their wake.

These ugly drops
might grow in size
yet still, they fall with their own weight.

Their size promotes an earthward fate.

In every aqueous
convex lens,
I see the same, exact, old sight
The light refracts
in ev'ry blot -
my windshield is an insect's eye.

The rain grows bold,
the crowd is wild.
My fallen friends are in uproar.
The patterns I
have grown to like
have taken splash and been obscured.

Time is up, the blade awakes -
the windshield's now an empty spread.
This drama shall unfold again,

but I must watch the road, instead.


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