Because there’s a drop, on a leaf, and it seems to weigh a hundred pounds, but it’s not falling, and you are amazed, and you want to help it along but you just watch dumbstruck instead as the morning sun brings forth some back light and still you wait, it’s almost unbearable, this wonder, this anticipation, this incipience, and someone really should write a poem about it. So you see if someone has. Because entire civilizations of ants are at your feet, in the garden dirt, scurrying. Because of them. Because of vultures mad with the sight of the fresh-felled…