Dissolution

Rain dissolves the chalk outline of yesterday's promise. What remains is not absence, but the clarity of stone.

Puddles hold the sky's inverted face— we walk across it carefully, afraid of breaking something that was never solid.

The garden drinks its fill, roots expanding in the dark, reaching for a language made of minerals and patience.

By morning, the world will taste of copper. By evening, something green will remember what it means to climb.