We are the culmination of our doubts made still,
hopes like raindrops collecting on a mirror,
distorted contemplations in incalculable resolution,
caught in a meandering breeze looking for anther melody
as we wait for the pull to strain the perspective anew,
deriding us or vanity yet tenderly transcending
what we thought were the limits of our abilities,
and in those last moments of what we once called home
we’ll find that we are a fluid instance in a sea of motion
and not a simple collection of reflections waiting.
About today’s poem:
I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that earth’s water has been here since the beginning, that the cycle has been churning for uncountable generations. In that vein, the the life of a raindrop as it falls from the sky to rest on a flower’s petal before slipping off toward the ground is but a fraction of a sliver of an instance, yet in that droplet we see the entire world around us reflected.