Today is a rainy day in New York.


I go in the rain having no umbrella;
I feel it, drop by drop, jumping on my face.
People are coming through,
having umbrellas above their heads,
as if it were some huge eagles on the little stalks.


You always stay home on a rainy day,
As if it were a ritual, a tradition.
You skip or cancel all the affairs you have planned for such a day.
You stay home. You work. You write.
When I leave a goodbye kiss on your lips,
I feel those salty drops right on them.
You don't want rain near you,
You don't need him.
He is you.