Rain and Sound Listen to me as one listens to the rain: we are distracted once again. Night approaches with its dense cloak of fear, an assault for which there is no cure. It is never winter here, yet the hibiscus have been censored like men trying to show their affection for each other. Air, water, and flower there is no weight in these words. Night has the figurations of mist. Listen to me as one listens to the rain : (Censor my desire for writing you poems.) Not attentive, not distracted, only as if I were the rain. Hear me out until the asphalt is wet. You are you in night steam. You enter my eyes as your steam crosses the street. The sun does not varnish the curve. We are both steam. Steam of another censored flower, lotus.