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 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.