Echoes of the Rain

Echoes of the rain press the windowsill,

like a stranger walking into the night

and its hundred folds. Do I know you?

Have we ever promised each other

the warmth of a road map flapping

at the back seat with such intensity

like sunset, hissed, unanswerable,

yet rightly felt to a heart of steel.

“Is it because that I am dying that

the night is so beautiful?” you ask,

“One day I shall also know, this coldness

does me no harm.” as I answer, the rain stops,

freshness of the field reels in, I stand still to

the far-away rainbow, the readiness of its ray,

colored true with my goodness and my sins.

      2004-10-4