A solitary wind is wiping cold tears on the windows.

It rains.

Sadness that I cannot express is brought about, but all the pain

that I feel is not inside of me,

my heart,

my chest,

but in the drops of rain that pour.

And grafted on my being, the immense world,

with its fall and its evening,

hurts me just like a wound.

With udders full, clouds pass toward the mountains.

And it rains.