a drip
a drip
another drop
but now the next one hangs
and shimmers, wiggles, stretches, tries to fall,
but icy cold, it can't let go. It waits until another drop
begins to loll beside it. Swollen now the couple's fates are one, almost, but part so oddly joined, still breaks.
Can we know how a bit was lost or tell our puzzled heart what kind of sense "a bit" of water makes?
We'd just as well describe a bit of love. These long laments still fall.
We're partly joined, but part is lost, and we keep partial track of such a cost, and see, just like the shine
of ice that's newly formed the same that's not the same, and is transformed. The patterns tease us, shift
and play. What do they mean? Another trickle joins the two as time will never let us stop.
Structural Note:
This poem uses the number of metrical feet (here, iambs) per line as determined by the Fibonacci sequence.
