Alphabets of Water

In the secret sway of the gutter
the nails tremble at the breath of the storm;
every drop scratches a letter in the air,
and the sky, shyly, embroidering on faded plaster.
The alphabets stretch upon the wet asphalt
A, B, C, and then Z that brushes the sidewalk;
a cold cursive draws the street
while the rain reads, swiftly, its secrets.
When the wind falls silent, only an echo of characters remains.
The gutter resumes its querying metal.
I gather the last fallen letter
a vocabulary of rain that never stops speaking.