How many raindrops fell from rain clouds
in the month of Rainy April?
I know You know the number,
the formations formed in flight,
the impact of the splatters
in the morning, in the night,
You know the ripples over water,
the measured backsplash from the rocks.
You know that if the downpour
were not dropletized, but released as falling oceans,
a full-force dam-burst torrent, miles high,
The crushing crash would decimate the earth.
So, You send the rain in no-weight water-diamonds,
a splitter-splatter music on the roof.
How is it that You know the size, the weight
the shifting shape of every rocket-drop
shot with blurring speed from silken clouds?
I only ask because I want to know.
How many, then, how many droplets, let's say:
in a space somehow extracted,
(a frozen slice of time)
in a space one cubic meter's span?
If you captured this cube of raindrops,
Calculating as You, and only You can?
The total, with precision, You could say.
Or what about the dripletidal pattern on my windshield,
as it forms in down-a-drizzle drifts
before the swipe of wiping wipers wipes it clean?
That pattern, how different it must be,
from every other pattern ever formed?
And never a true repetition, though it looks the same to me.
I only ask because I do not need to know
and because I know You know. You always know.
And that's all I need to know.
