What the Rain Remembers

Rain falls against the glass
like memories seeking permission
to touch the earth again
without breaking everything they touch.

It collects along the dark sill,
pooling like ancient conversations
we abandoned in the hallway
when our pride outgrew our tenderness.

I watch the droplets race toward the edge,
merging before they disappear,
and wonder why it is so effortless for water
to become one with what it encounters,

while we, forged of blood and bone,
cannot cross the few inches of a quiet room.