the vocation of a water drop

water drip
dropped from
busstop
crossbar,
strikes my back
at my shoulder,
cool,
collecting neurons, united in perception;

fire on pretty babies,
this is the best thing yet this week –

snake-skin alive with visceral sensation,
likens the autumn
to the wind of a little world of
feeling and finding,
a little taste of ecstasy
on the tongue of my shoulder-blade.