for césar vallejo

  The questions drum with beating rain,
drought of answers now washed away -
but still the clock smiles away this afternoon,
and autumn crisply whispers to night.

     Shadows seem to hide in corners,
how I have swept and wept with cleaning...
yet spiders still do crawl about,
and webs now empty only catch
the dreams of flies that hung in summer.

     Cause and effect are slights of hand,
and tears so often blur movement -
and trusting in process is never guaranteed
to bring closure to wounded hearts.