Names on the Water

The tongue of water whispers on the bricks,
dripping letters that have no home.
Every downpour brings a name left out of chorus,
and the wall becomes a page, damp memory.
The lime draws alphabets of salt,
names that once ran through the streets.
The rain knows them, returns them for a moment,
then quenches them, like breath upon the wall.
Forgotten names flare up for an instant,
a veil of rain brings them back to life.
The liquid tongue rebuilds them as images,
and the concrete welcomes them, trembling with light.
When the water recedes, remains the echo
of names that lack a voice, but hold memory.
The city breathes to the rhythm of the annotating water,
and the walls still guard the forgotten faces.