Rain Puddles
on next-door’s flat roof
we overlook while gazing
towards the lake, speckle, pucker;
as more raindrops fall,
bubbles form, slither and pop.
Down on the lake's speckling
also - vertical fall meets
horizontal spread - there - now -
even today seaplanes taxi,
lift off, vanish, or buzz in
to touch down, long wakes
widening, subsiding.
Small yachts tack about,
a rowing eight pulls ahead
of their coach’s put-put boat.
Later - soon - two crows or three
will touch down on that roof,
let drop from each black bill
some dry morsels, moistening
in one of those puddles.
I should be so intent
on my reading, masticating,
not to be jotting this down,
but keep sneaking quick glances
at raindrops, puddles, lake, the craft
so various, the crows, themselves
now scoffing and swallowing.
Max Richards
above Lake Union, Seattle
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