A response to Hydraphobe

If you weren't clothed
what would catch
would it be a finger, a hair, a soul detached?

diversive rain
sent by the gods to deny reflection
keeps the eyes smaller
straining
-this time-

you observed those few things
that never make sense
they all seem the same
trees on a highway
white lines dividing lanes

that nature controls us
and the drips home in
they never find the ground
just our shoulders
sometimes our scalp
missing the follicles completely
direct hit

awning sentries
drop from the edges
homing in for the most efficient splash

predestined transmissions
inevitability
blame is for the willing
not the wicked

it is your rain
your spicket
the sprinkler you built with your bare hands
not your water, though
not your water

the minute differences between rain drops and pool drops
the sunshine smiles or depleted cough drops
between swimming or drowning
breathing or choking

so small
.
.
.
.
.
.
so maleable

a hammer's dream
an artisan's medium
a dreamer's sleep