Raindrops

     Show me what compels
          Canada geese to fly south in autumn,
and describe the intricate woven pattern in the flight feathers of
     that silent hunter - the great horned owl.
Tell me of dust storms in the upper atmosphere that
     cause the moon to quiver at night, as if to
shake the unerring gaze of a sleepless child.
     Even the marvels of the human eye, as it
catches falling snow in the basket of memory,
     these thing I can
          mostly understand.
 
     But how can a mortal mind
comprehend what makes the heart beat so
   and the mind fly at sight or thought or touch.
 
     The pulsating of blood from heart to brain.
And the way the finger tips can little forget the feel of sliding
     slow across a cheek.
 
     How one short line from a violin can make the
rumbling sound of irreverent traffic fast fade
 
     and recall her standing in the foyer, in a
sleeveless white satin ball gown, drenched,
     because she locked herself out of the house. Explain for me
misty morning fog that bleeds…
 
          And the echo of water droplets
 
falling on stone tile
 
     next to unshod feet.
 

Joel Shearer