Now you are in the evenings where endless solitudes accompany you. You are at the times when you see the pains beckon you and you shout the rebellion to them. In the evening of one of the days when you were the most orphan, the most lonely and offended. The moment when you take refuge in poems, your old friend. Time is silent, you are the hit. Castle your neck. Losing hope. Hug your inner child. Now it's raining time.
Take refuge in your hands. Because they are the sum of beauties that will create; they grow in their warmth what you really seek. And they run with their own being to the dew on a fresh crocus branch. Tomorrow is in their hands, and a timid goldfinch is in solitude looking for a shelter. Protect it from its own rains.
Open your pockets. I came to you with hard candy to fill your pockets, not those tiny hands. Which I brought to you by stealing them from my own mysterious past, from the streets and from my childhood.
Now it's raining time. Come sit next to me. Put your hair on my shoulders. Now it's raining time. Spread your joys on my mountains of love.