Under Rain’s Weight

Rain glazed the pavement, glassy and slick,

like the words I couldn’t catch, falling quick.

Doors slammed hard—no soft goodbye,

and I stood wet, with no alibi.

I lost the fight, or maybe myself,

voice thin, drowned on the wet shelf.

Heavy silence, a thick gray tide,

lessons taught in the steps I hide.

The cold street holds its breath, like me,

waiting for something that won’t be.

But under that wet, unforgiving light,

I learned to fold my hands tight.