Water condenses
into teardrop-shaped balls,
and falls and falls,
following the edicts of
some long-declared laws,
whose calls are upheld
by the taut, gangly arms
of some sight-unseen god
that trods on the dirt
of lands he never quite oversaw,
except through a spyglass,
through a dense cloud of fog.
The chilled liquid
hits my face
and then impacts the sod,
returning once more
to the home it never
quite escapes for very long.
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