The earlier drizzle becomes proper rain
in the deepening dark of the late evening
turning into night, and this mist-shrouded
landscape has evoked in my mind a memory
of some poem it insists I have read, one
that my mind connects to Saigyõ. I have
no recollection of any exact details of
the poem, or if it truly was by him. What
I remember is evening rain, gathering
dark and the mist. A vision of a painting
in words. Perhaps, probably, my mind
connects separate poems into a single
one, like it now connects different
sensations delivered by sight, smell
and hearing into this vision of
a landscape that I think lies before
my eyes, but which truly exists
like this only in my brain.
11.-12.07.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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