It rains
Jacques Brillouin
It is raining the voices of women as if
they were dead even in memory
It is you also that it rains, marvelous
meetings of my life, oh little drops
And these reared-up clouds take themselves
to neighing an entire universe of auricular cities
Listen if it rains while regret and disdain
cry an ancient music
Listen to the falling of the bonds that
restrain you from top to bottom