Thought after thought after thought,

Who sought to string the beads together

So that a single drop of rain

Could be seen in slow motion

From where it had been

To now, to where the drop was going.

It drips silently down the pane,

Like notes of a musical prelude.

Who thought to string the notes together

In a sonorous whisper on a Celtic flute

And play out a life of moments together

That dance along a sea-like shore

And dabble in water and sand.

Who thought to name this drop as it fell

And tell it its name,

And tell it that it wasn’t the same

As it was

So high up in the atmosphere!

But this, here, too, is sky,

Just not so blue. 

And you,

Are you not the same,

Reading your paper on the train

As you were when you fished for change

In your pocket, to purchase the raggy news?

And your blues, 

Will they modulate and change key

By the time you get to old Paris,

A new song, a tune of now?

Who thought to string you together in this jazz mood?

Your shoe will play for you, 

When you tap your foot down on the platform 

To the rhythm of the rain.

Trouble can only live in the past

Or the future,

But good music plays here, now,

Good food is cooking,

Love is brewing

In this throbbing creative pulse of spontaneity 

Called us.

-jenn