Clearings Without Light

Recently awoken from a nap,
clouds circling my head,
rain in cities made of sun:
Announcing themselves with smell,
hours before falling, like steps of mud
Floor of sunken herbs between tiles, releasing a past heat;
All submerging their colors,
taking them out to the supernatural light, between downpours,
warm and temporary peace, of thin droplets between minutes
and a rainbow hiding, between pastel-colored façades,
today without hanging clothes, the wind knows nothing will dry,
other than the desire to run, through the hooded hills
of yawns soaked by honey tears
sticking storms on us,
wet with April syllables.