What the Rain Remembers

The stones remember pressure— centuries bent into their shape, now they cup the sky's spilling.

Somewhere a ridge dissolves grain by grain. Nothing holds permanent except the hunger of becoming.

I watch the river remake itself carrying what was never meant to stay, polishing each sorrow to a shine.

What erodes in me is not loss but the architecture of wanting— the hard walls I built to keep myself whole, whole, whole.

The rain knows better. It knows how to fall apart and still arrive at the sea.