Because it rained here tonight ( For you)

Like those farmers
In a warm country
I have always
Depended on the
Kindness of the rain
No, not in the
Mere poetic harvest
Of a sacred nostalgia
No, not in the
Symbolic cleansing
Of bitterness and hatred
Of dirt
Of every god-forsaken thing
Wise men talk about.

Nothing of that sort, you know.

That pristine sight
From my balcony
The smell
Of colored wet walls
The pick pock sound
Of that
Endless repetition

Caressing my inert sensation

Has always
Been
Good enough for me.