The last light of summer
Sifting the darkest of the clouds,
the unpredictable rhythm of the rain
takes the last light of the waning summer
down the alleyways of the soul.
The last light which no one talks about,
because they know it belongs to no party,
takes my bundle of old and strong desires
doubting towards the places of oblivion.
From inland I see raining on the sea,
the splendid beauty of the useless,
which far away melts with the colours of the sky
neither grey, nor blue nor green. What a soft back!
A high flame has kept me alert
to all the questions of your life:
I love you more now than I did.
I am who I am with you. Rain that falls.