the rain beats against the window and I see the
drops amass until each dotted soul swells, then
bursts into a rivulet seeking a path against the glass,
and some will pass through other streams, and I follow
their brief intersects, these capillaric rivers that fail
to merge, while others course boldly, seeking to
join, to find a parallel stream on likeminded journey,
and off to the corner of the pane there are drops
that fill and run, and then halt, and bump, and skitter
about, those carving a solitary course
