Beyond privations and papers
where I write and erase words
comes the rain
carrying roads that lead to mists
nothing else, is clear
yes, I know, beyond language
at the silent windows of your solitude
I am
beyond water and guessing
in the dry hours of waking up
near my words
images of uncertainty run over
between news and journals
growing old in the evening
while rains pour down
next to cold window-panes
on the time that widens
along our separating segment