One can write of sunshine, write of clouds as well; but the moment I try to write of shadows rain comes from nowhere!
Sometimes I write...by mistake. And just then rain slips into this room, across this floor, through the gaps in the window.
Inside my chest, rainwater draws sacred designs, on plates and bowls a feast of water is laid, this body wears the stains of water.
The heart grows hollow after a while... My mind calls to the sun: You're out there—come in! My mind calls to the clouds: Come home...come home! ...None of them come. The rain grows heavier.
This is so heavy...when did I ever want to carry it! Yet why does the water say, I came at rain's invitation! Why does the rain lie, saying, I came because you called!
Serving this uninvited guest, today I dream only of flowers, incense sticks, sandalwood.