CATCHING THE RAIN

To catch the rain, the fist must break,

And yield the stones it used to hold.

For every path we choose to take,

A hundred others must unfold.

The autumn leaf, in gold and rust,

Must trade its branch for winter’s floor,

To turn its heavy heart to dust

And open up the forest door.

We fear the gap, the hollow space,

The quiet where a ghost once stood,

But tethered things can’t run a race,

And "safe" is not the same as "good."

So let it go—the worn, the known,

The anchor dragging in the sand.

The greatest seeds are only sown

From within an open hand.