Sky Pooled in the Rock
The water pooled between the rocks hardly moved all morning. The sky had come into the surface. A little colder than the sky seen from above, and though it was caught in a crack in the rock, it spread out surprisingly wide. Even there, the water was slowly draining away. Before the morning ended, little by little. I can picture you sitting there on the rock. Where the water drained out, there must have been a faint line left behind, like an old paint stain. You must have listened for the last drop to fall there, and then risen again. While the water parted along that line, the rock said nothing. I, too, rose just as quietly. The morning was already over, and only the sky remained in the crack of the rock.
At the shaded corner of the stairs, yesterday's rain hasn't dried yet. An ant crossing it stops, then walks on again.
I too tried following the ant's steps as it carefully skirted that drop. Lower down the stairs, there was still a place where the rain remained in shadow.
Someone was sitting on the subway exit stairs, shoes off, cooling their feet. A little rain had pooled in a paper cup beside them, and they got up without touching it.
The water in that paper cup must have swayed a little when the shod feet stood up. The mark left on the stairs was drying, leaving intact the time that person had spent sitting there.
While the water in the rock crevice dried, the soil in the pot by the front gate dried along with it. When I watered it in the evening, there was the sound of water seeping along the veins of the leaves.