THE RAIN

Soft dosent mean safe

The rain was even apologetic.

It didn’t mean to soak you.

It whispered sorry with every drop
that slipped into a seam,
a collarbone,
a crack in the wood.

It poured for days.

You learned not to mistake apology
for mercy.

This water—it had a soft voice,
but a fierce intent.

The sound gentle
as it kissed moss and stone,
but it carved the land anyway.

It always does.