cold, aggressive rain—
towards an impossible horizon.
Lost feelings sing the drops in dissipated jazz,
beyond searching against the wind.
Far away, the ocean reads the inferno:
sunset in sailors' eyes,
witches hanging on poles like tired birds,
sometimes snapping in the wind.
Not complaining like lost virgins,
the rain, a perfect nude,
waits for the artist's hands.
You can shape the rain?