Rain polishes the pebbled pathways,
gleams on Buddha's cranium,
shimmying across his tummy,
dripping from the bell-hung eaves.
Bougainvillaea umbels brim,
the garden tingles, birds exclaim,
droplets become agile runnels
cruising grooves in tongues of leaves.
I'm waiting for that dormant frog
to find his voice and sing again...