FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

know when a poem curls
in irregular shape,
when you cannot figure out
what it is giving you,
it is taking the shape of air,
and in water, the
candle drops create in you
shapes of prophesies
a head, some hands,
upon a basin, you make
yourself relevant, insert yourself
to a story,
in this empty hours, you
ask for purpose, and if you
remember once, you left your
room, walk away, without
any place in mind, and you simply
keep on walking not
minding whom you meet
and someone greets you and you
do not hear anything,
until it rains, so hard, and
it is only you who did not
run for shelter.

a little boy, holding her mama's
hand, under an umbrella,
tells her, " what is he doing
under the rain?"

you notice it now, and you
think, did that boy think that
i am crazy, that there is something
so heavy, and that i do not
really care what happens next?