Smallest Rivers - Poetry Thursday

The PT prompt this week is simply the word rivers.

Rain

Without thunder,
twitching leaves
is the only sound
you make and
that is no sound at all.

Rain, so slight,
even the clouds
must be unaware
that you’ve come.

But you are persistent,
and I know
when you’re done
the featherless baby sparrows

born in the eaves
will be drowned, know
I will find one or two
beneath the drainpipe,

pressed into the dirt,
wings of skin extended
in grotesque flattened flight
while above, the sun

dries the remains of
their nest.
I am old and young then,
in these least rains,
where the smallest rivers flood.