the rain falls lubricating my despair
the warm wet breeze
forces the mosquitos
to fight their way to me
but i am much too sad
to deny them their repast
the storm seems to blow away
the clouds behind which
the secrets of creation peak
and though i see clearly
to the very heart of time
my heart is not into grasping it
it slips through my hands
like the rain drops
dripping off my nose
for what does it mean
to control creation
to seize the power
at the heart of the universe
if there is no one there
to whom you can offer the moon
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