Solstice

What exactly will you do with that drop of rain?

Catch it? Care for it until it leaks through your fingers?

Stand helpless, while it evaporates?

Freeze it for later with a trillion of its closest friends,

pack them together and launch them at an unsuspecting sibling?

Put it under the microscope or sell it for its hydrogen?

Will you let that little droplet, fall into the puddle that eddies at your boots

and then try to find it again, pick it out from all the nameless others?

Will you lick your palm and make it part of you

for now

or watch its choreography on the windshield

until your seasonal depression goes away?

Will you curse its most beautiful form

as the solstice arrives?

Will you recognize it in the flowers next spring

in a blade of grass

or your lover’s biological approval?

Will you look at it through a truer lens

and see that it is not a thing but many things,

know that it is not an isolated lonely thing

but an integral wayward piece of Lake Ontario?

Will that little fallen angel be recognized

in your enemy's heart?