Derian's Rain

 
In the evening coloured glass you see yourself
but choose not to. You don't matter.
It's the drops running and merging
with the canals of the other drops
that you're fixated on.

Your thirsty, bewildered eyes slurp
at the window. A toe of water
stutters, sprints, stutters, before you.
Your right hand leaps for a touch; for something,
but the drop runs through your hand
and you feel nothing but the smooth window.

Your hand springs back as you gasp, quietly
as an astounded magician or a faithless
Moses would have done.
The rain continues to sprint, and stutter
past the glass to nowhere.

Another globule races in front of you.
You place your hand more carefully,
to inspect. To learn. You gasp, amazed,
astounded.
This time with faith and knowledge
and I'm also amazed, at your ability
to squeeze life
from the silence of everything around us.