Your thoughts have drifted into my heartLike the first clouds in the eastern skies,
Moist with fragrance of the distant rains.
The summer was long: the thirsty rootsAnd the babbling brooks have dried up
Like green dreams, withered in the sun.
I know these dark clouds will not burst forthAs chattering rain on my window-panes;
But the day is dark, and I seek darkness.
Lightning streaks the sky with a promise,To fall with unrestrained joy one day:
Not here, not now, but someplace else.