Blown glass
Clings with fragile suction
To the webbing of a tree.
The sun melts rain mist
Steams the grass to starched attention,
Transforms the hanging sphere
Into a jeweled chandelier,
Reflecting worlds turned upside down.

Each tear,
Fat with life for thirsty roots,
Swollen in the sunlight,
Absorbs another
Bulging like the healthy summer fruit
That drop when ripe.

Gentle little raindrop,
Self sustaining world,
Your supple flesh, though soft,
Cannot be crushed.