I write lists, words on paper,
items that drift away,
like rain on a rooftop,
dripping into a waiting bucket.

The ink smudges, blurs the lines,
I wonder if I should care,
as I watch the water collect,
filling spaces that once were dry.

I, from tomorrow, glance back,
at the notes I never used,
forgive the forgotten plans,
as the roof continues to weep.

Yet in this tiredness, a glow,
a light that finds its way,
through cracks and overflows,
I see clarity in the cascade.