The postcard, growing yellow
for so long
No contact
I don't have an address
to do anything about it
Besides, said in thoughts
my words are silting up
with caution
We only share the wind
that covers us
with sand from South
pollen from East, rain from West
and from North the cold comes
Then I pull a sweater
over my heart, stroke
with my fingers
on my one belly
thinking of your hands
Collection "Pending rain"