Star

  Tricia Peak           

I spied a raindrop on my window pane
then realized it was a star after all,
a star so easily mistaken for a teardrop.

I looked again to see the distant sparkle
sliding across the glass, like a water droplet
wobbling and slithering on a grass blade.

The teardrop twinkles as immeasurably
as the star, that harbinger from afar,
maybe dead long since, who knows?

What wasted passion, the light still flashing,
the teardrop sliding, being wiped or looped
with the tongue or evaporating into nothingness.