I am as Lonely as Falling Drops of Rain I am the poem that began at dawn. One day all the sand of Abyssinia sprouted from my eyes and all the perfume in Paris originated from my fingers. Another day I saw the moon rise on a river in the Far East, saw her drown herself completely drunk on life. I also remember that long night when I wept bitterly the wrath of God in the dying eyes of a sad alpaca. And that other day when I opened two hundred and eighty-three doors looking for a letter that said: We learned to challenge darkness with more darkness. I am that poem that began at dawn but soon ended.