Window Washer

Drops on the window,
Slipping down the sunlit panes,
Grasping for the sky.

The air lifts them high,
A liquid they are no more,
But a vapour alpine.

Climbing up a vine,
Unseen to the naked eye,
Known, invisible.

Yet divisible,
One by one they multiply,
Into clouds of air.

And through the sun’s glare,
They sit amongst the others,
Coating the heavens.

They drop in sevens,
Liquify as they decline,
Reflecting sunlight.

Rain, it falls tonight.