i hate my poems
i hate waiting for words
waiting is cunning
and time smiles

Rain

Rain always changes the game

I would be nothing if it were sunny and dry
but then it rained
and the light was low
around us

we shut our umbrellas
and we took the long way
mother and daughter changed the story
drenched with a bagful of vegetables

every time it rained
around your house
I knew
you told me about
the different sounds it draws
on your roof, windows and door
It never rained when we were together
rain had no plans for us

It rained the night we had no room
we sat near the white pebbles with a glass wall
we counted snails that night
on a wooden bench
trying to touch  fingers

Then rain was around out life
in the trees, in the breeze
gathered around us
and we stood
walked together slowly wading
to make another story

It rained again
 I was moving
and everything was white
I couldn't think of one person I would want
with me in that moment
rain caressed my face,  feet and thighs
I have been replacing memories
with temporary music

Only rain can change my plans

Twin

The look alike of some day
of a street left behind
 a telephone booth in waiting
of rainy, balmy breath
and one such day here
with a voice in hestitation
and fingers touching only weed
 smoke and rain crept up
broken by feet
I know
the past can creep up
                                                                                   on silent streets

                                                                                  looking for a light

Ice is the name of the night
 pale prints
stolen bookmarks
sugar cubes
and the rest of my questions
are melting slowly
in front of the electric heater

in another icy land
walks a wind
flowers in his pockets
and cozy poems
that begin with a kiss
my questions will be clouds
when spring
will be right around the corner