The time of rain

I stand and watch the rain
Falling in pools which make
Our grave old planet shine;
The clear rain falling, just the same
As that which fell in Homer’s time
And that which dropped in Villon’s day
Falling on mother and on child
As on the passive backs of sheep;
Rain saying all it has to say
Again and yet again, and yet..

--Supervielle.

The time of the rain. No-one knows it. It brings with it its own world, displacing the hard-cracked one we know. The birds sense it beforehand. Watch them wait for the gathering darkness, anticipating that immeasurable freedom. It will stop and start again and no-one will know how much time has passed.

And the rain recalls those lost moments, the time you lost your heart.

The sky brightens and the light settles. Am I still here? I look at my name on the board and think to myself (who else?): who is that?