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Acrid rain falls
washes faces
fades the old signs
moistens the houses of the island.
It drips off the collars
slips inside pockets, moistens hands
changes the speech, erases addresses.
It rains on the cop’s overcoat
over storage facilities, tin cans
sacks of flour, the cemetery,
the fields, the dead, worried that
they might miss something, not worried
whether the crops will grow;
it rains on the sails of fishing boats
over the boat with passengers
under the spotlight of the quay.
Long way between desire and decision;
long way between return and next departure.
Libros Libertad 