Quietly before the rains, the breezes tremble: moist, warm, eager. Ever falling raindrops, a look of silence, the sound of the wind. Scattered clouds above, dancing amidst the blue, conjuring sun. Yesterday: wet palm leaves bowing to the applause of raindrops. Whenever you speak to me: I am the sugar cube, you are the rain. I lie in my bed, dreaming of yesterday -- then you stir. The rich, creamy fog blowing in like a dream envelops even my sighs. Tapping eaves full of snow -- my muffled surprise! So cold, the struggle. When I unfold your picture, my blood and my heart: not regular, not now. See the red-green frog tasting mosquitoes? Hasn't found his favorite yet. As I listen to Chopin my heart unfolds -- I even feel the honeybees. The mother bares her breast. The crying babe. The silence. When I read your letter, the clock's hands like two bearded dervishes. Comes the evening of this hopeless longing, only the moon, the sky so red. My hair lies about me in tattered heaps. Such grief. I see my friend across the room. My hands wave wildly, and paint the picture of hello. When mystics gather round the fire is lit before the logs are brought. Coffee skin; eyes, chocolate -- a dollop of cream between the lips. Gossamer skirts that trail in the breeze... attendant ghosts. A giant dipped his hand in the sun, leaving a white thumbprint between the stars. A silver fish leaps; a grey cat watches... and nothing more. The birds in lazy, looping circles. The clouds have gone. Not a sound. The wet sand remembers where my feet go, but easily forgets. Inhale the salt air... one of those times you taste with your nose. Beneath the pale of mid-day, birds are weaving but forget their thread. The night, the moon lonely; a still, reflective silence, the waves murmuring below. Trees upthrust from the soil reach for the sun and do not look back. A conference among the clouds, the flash of argument; tears of reconciliation. Blurred images of speed, plummeting, racing -- a small, quiet splash. The heat! like a blanket I simply can't remove. I stick to the bed. The falling rain: how unorchestrated in its sound, how symphonous. Only a thousand stars tonight; the lights of the city consumed the rest. The swift river flowing past; a motionless fish is swimming fiercely.