if lives were raindrops

if lives were raindrops

the tale

of your birth

would be told in the air

your flight

from cloud

to earth

a rite of passage

before melding

with this world

where just as suddenly

as you were born

your existence

might resolve as a ripple

sometimes quiet

sometimes subdued

perhaps

a silvery globule

of water on a leaf

or

an unlikely

sculpture

momentarily

hovering above the flow

of a vast river

or perhaps

a moment

of elegant and absolute presence

in which your unlikely

and unexpected nature

is subsumed

into some soft lagoon

each ripple an echo

a liquid tracery

telling

of your arrival

and then also

of your passing