Black on the gray-colored ground of the early evening.
The ocher and pink colors of this place in daytime
Are parts of one colour at night, so that to see them
One has to breathe in. And breathing in:
This has the curious effect of rain itself in that moment—
The smell rousing us to what we know inside ourselves.
But that is not the end of it, a rainy day turning itself
Into a moist evening full of crickets
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fine image painted piece Fade, great penning my friend...keep up the good work