Staring at the Rain

If every drop on that pane is alert,
aware of its own existence,
does it forget when it becomes
part of something more important?

When the melding takes place,
does the raindrop reliquish first its time,
minutes of sleep and solitude when
loneliness threatens to sink in?

Then, perhaps, gains interests that it
never knew it had?
After all, what is the harm of
watching the occasional hockey game?
Now and then.
Now and then.

The raindrop, without its sense of time,
also begins to forget its location.
All water is one living entity.
Home loses its edge.
Then, perhaps, our little droplet misplaces other things.
Like religion or tradition or gender roles.
Because, in the end, love is fluid.