comes silence.

The greentipped spread of a branch

shivers faintly

as a mynah comes to rest on it,

a sudden implosion of black feathers –

but no sound.

No sound, even as the last wayward drops

tumble helplessly groundward, in an everlasting instant.

Distant traffic flickers

on white sunlit stone

and is gone, in a beetle’s wingflash.

Leaving only the rain, puddled on the grey paving

like ink on an inkstone.

Waiting for the soft, wondering feet

of drainborn kittens.

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