It's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables, air and water, words with no weight: what we are and are, the days and year, this moment, weightless time and heavy sorrow, listen to me as one to the rain.
Whe shall be notes in that great symphony whose cadence circles trough the rhythmic spheres and all the live world's throbbing heart shall be one with our heart.
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome.
The great light cage has broken up in the air freeing, I think, about a millions birds whose wild ascending shadows will not be back and all the wires come falling down no cage, no frightening birds; the rain is brightening now. The face is pale that tried the puzzle of their prisión and solved it with an unexpected kiss, whose ususpected hans alit.
When friendship or love our sympathies move; when trut, in a glance, should appear, the lips may beguile with a dimple or smile but the test of affection's a tear.
