Today a sparrow sat on my window sill,
Telling me tales of some place else, of some other day,
In its undecipherable tongue, but I somehow understood.
In the evening, I discover all the letters I'd written for you (but that never were sent)
lying scattered on the floor.
The yellow papers were weeping, it seemed, hence got loose.
The music of the evening was so soothing.
I was so tired, I'm so tired still.
I'm dreaming of rain and waiting,
Waiting for something that has simply forgotten its way to my being.