At the window
The darkened pane
becomes a canvas,
where the rain
now whips the night
into a shape of mourning.
The outside world
is now a rumour
and a darkness,
where no-shape sculptures
slowly walk the silent streets.
I see my face,
inside this drowning glass,
has lost its contours and its stories.
All of me dissolves
and waits for your deliverance.