a drop falls

a drop falls
like a bulb of water that rolls
gently down the vein
looking for its final place
and the rest, waiting
for the heat of a day
to bring new life
rising above and over
in the moments to come
words fail
or act the veil
while the rest behind
is scattered, undone
or simply waiting
the drop now cradled
in the crease of one finger
down to the centre of the palm
beginning, ending all at once
and the world is reflected
from where I am watching


Leigh-Anne Tyson


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