Wet Map

Rain signs the map upon the stones of the forgotten station,
thin lines that gleam through cracks and lichens.
Every drop is a point, every reflection is a direction,
and time stands still among rusty rails.
Desire follows those invisible lines,
a secret stop where the echo is only your name.
The water arrows indicate a possible meeting,
among peeled signs and your remaining footprint.
When the rain falls silent, the map remains wet and fragile,
engraved in basalt like a tenuous promise.
The station sleeps, but desire still makes its way,
ready to board the first train of dawn.