Impossible Things

I sit on the edge of the garden

Just before the infamous golden hour

The sprinkler turns on 

And the birds come for a drink

I watch the water hit the wood

First the drops evaporate almost immediately

Barely a trace after a moment or two

But as the wood cools and the drops continue to fall,

It soaks in 

The water pools

The wood is wet

I watch the water spurt out of the sprinkler head

Glistening in the sunlight

I think of you

Snapping photos in the dark

Flash in hand

Trying to capture the movement of water

In an instant

Knowingly or unknowingly,

The man fascinated

By impossible things.