Just audible
the sound of rain
from beyond
the windows
but as I go
and gaze outside
at the withering
landscape
beyond the panes
seemingly
frozen in timeless
autumnal hour
I see no sign
of the rain
on the puddles
on the gravel road
too far
too see
raindrops
breaking their surface.
Yet the sound
tells me
what my eyes
fail to see,
and I see
in my mind
raindrops falling
on dark firs,
on still green
wet grass,
on fallen leaves
brown, red and yellow,
a landscape
inside me,
and the flesh
another pane
separating.
Three different landscapes
for two senses
and the mind,
and I inhabit
all of them,
briefly,
ephemerally,
less rooted
in them
than the trees,
more like the raindrops.
08.10.2026
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