Rain

Rain

Rain comes steady at first,

a soft tapping against the roof,

then harder, relentless,

sliding down the windows,

tracing the edges of glass,

filling the air with its smell,

wet, dark, alive.

I step outside,

feet sinking into the softened earth,

water soaking through my shoes,

hands lifted to catch the drops,

letting them run down my arms,

and I feel it in every nerve,

how it wants to reach me,

to push me into motion.

The street is slick and shining,

puddles form like mirrors,

reflecting the gray sky above,

and the passing cars send waves,

spilling over edges,

and I am moved by it,

by the way the world becomes liquid,

everything slipping, flowing,

nothing staying in place.

Rain runs off the rooftops,

gathers in gutters,

sings in the hollow spaces,

between walls and trees,

and in its rhythm,

I hear voices I cannot name,

echoes of streets I have walked,

and streets I never will.

I want to stand in it forever,

feel it press against my shoulders,

against my face,

let it wash away the weight of life,

let it shake loose

everything that sticks too tight,

but the cold presses back,

reminds me of limits,

reminds me that even rain cannot stay.

And still I watch it,

feel it sweep across the city,

touching the skin of every stone,

every leaf,

every human thought it can reach,

and I know it moves without reason,

without pause,

and I am left leaning into it,

breathing wet, trembling air.