Let the ripples dribble on,
And fall on down the long empty windowpane.
A drop will plop itself there sometimes, motionless in the air,
Like an albatross flying against the headwind.
This drop is my life, the uncertain displacement,
Carefully clung to what is really transparent.
I’ll go on down like the rest of them I guess,
Slipping farther from grace, a qualified race.
Let the ripples remain simple,
Unfiltered by the force of the storm.
A thousand more drops will hit the same windowpane,
And the air will always feel a cold kiss from drops like me.