The rain isn't wholly unsibylline today:

     Forbear of saltier waters yet

     To meet within this gyre, it will

     No more stand for catching

     Than slighter shadows bending past

     To take the swallow's notice. It defers

     To no flight, preferring to remain

     Where hands' breath cannot reach,

     Borne away in the exulant triumph of feathers

     Over fashion, of seed and space in times

     When every droplet might have led the way

     To oceans.