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Not Me

Rain spatters pavement,

making a dent

only in my mind.

As I listen to the watery music,

I drift with the small stream

running down the street

and wish I could feel

like rain for a moment,

or a rose,

or even a lion.

I look up at the clouds

in the night sky glowing

from the city lights,

and I think,

what is it like

to be up there,

cooling and condensing,

preparing to fall,

to help a rose grow

or provide a drink for a lion,

or just make watery music?

What is it like to be rain

spattering pavement in the night?

What is it like

not to be human,

not to be me?

~*~

Written March 1998

A special thank you to V. Night Zamora ~ Night Photography ~ for the photograph used for this poem.