Sky in the Rock, Water on the Stairs
The water pooled in the crack of the rock hardly moved all morning. The sky had come into the surface. Even there, the water was slowly draining away. There was someone sitting on the subway exit stairs, shoes off, cooling their feet. A paper cup beside them held a little rain, and they got up without touching it. The water in that paper cup must have swayed a little as the feet, shoes back on, stood up. The mark left on the step was drying, keeping the time they'd sat there just as it was. 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. 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.
The day after I saw the paper cup on the stairs and walked on past, I watched the rainwater pooled in the same spot dry completely in the sun. Where that water went, I never did find out.
Sitting down on that dried spot and pausing a moment, only the place the water had visited remained, holding the evening light.
Going up the stairs, I found the paper cup from earlier had dried in the same spot. The water stain inside grew fainter toward the rim.
While the water stain faded, the spot where that person had sat must have been drying a little more slowly. I passed by it on my way down.
Even after the tap water stopped, the crack went on glinting for a while. Passing by, I sat down by the window and looked at those stairs. While the footsteps climbing away grew distant, the end of the crack was already drying.
Even after the crack dried, that spot alone stayed unusually dark. Looking at that darkness, I stamped my foot once and stood up.