There is a separate
           Violent intimacy
           In the wind trawling the clouds
Like a pure jazz of form.

The pours of January rains
           And the sloping drops of rain
           Accumulating melancholies
Hungry and white as salt.

The rain won't stop its jazz
           Balanced in the oval of heaven.
           Dynamic thoughts glimpsed
In the lines of the rain.

Needing a certain guide
           To really see the yield.
           As the years accumulate
The grains of insight.

Mind and eye composing
           Thoughts straight, sometimes
           Circular, diagonal, oblique.
But the outlines are visible.

Thoughts thus transformed
           Informs this pilgrim
           Like you.
Maybe unlike you.