i watch the raindrops
how
they slid from the leaves,
and slide
without holding on to the air,
drawing circles
on the face of the
river,
from the Center
towards the outside,
without a compass,

the circles grow
and grow
until the sound of a
trumpet swallows them,
announcing the flight
of the morning
on the wings of the
horizon,

i watch the raindrops
how
they slid from the leaves,
and slide
without holding on to the air,
drawing circles
on the face of the
river,
from the Center
towards the outside,
without a compass,

the circles grow
and grow
until the sound of a
trumpet swallows them