Rain drops on glass..

The sky presses close,
a soft gray breath against the world,
and the window learns a new language,
dots and commas of rain.

Each drop holds a small sky,
bending light, slowing time,
trembling before it lets go
and joins another’s path.

Outside, the world is blurred,
edges loosened, worries softened,
trees reduced to shadows
that remember how to stand still.

Inside this quiet moment,
nothing rushes.
The rain writes what it wants,
and the glass listens.