When a drop of rain rests a while on a petal,
it gleams in the sunshine as the cat, finishing his daily bath,
stretches out on his belly and purrs into sleep.
When the dew wakes to find itself on a blade of grass,
quickly goes about starting the day, while the wind announces the morning,
pulling shut a bedroom window left open in the night.
When the sky furrows its brow and gathers its comforts,
we say it is heavy, just as a wife scrubbing the carpet
with soap, watches her clothes change colour.
When it finally beats down on tin roofs and pummels
the garden, red or otherwise, into the ground, a young girl
cries in the bathroom, convinced she is dying.