Seven drops of rain
land gently on my hand,
each one, I see,
has its own, unique beauty.
The first is so well groomed,
and perfectly round,
it looks like it’s seen the world
and traveled all around.
The second moves mischievously,
like a playful child,
naive and trusting,
but carefree and wild.
The third sits quietly
on my palm,
perfectly still,
content and calm.
The fourth is simply lovely
to look upon,
to mesmerize the senses
it seems to have been born.
The fifth seems awkward
but also has qualities rare;
it shields the others
with great love and care.
Number six appears to be in a fix,
for it knows not what to do,
but when it finds its niche,
it will surpass the others too.
The last, hollow and empty,
has everything all the same,
the nameless one,
to which you could give any name.
-Written in 2011
Dancing Tides 