la lluvia en la noche

la lluvia en la noche

evening rain

se cae en ramas de ciprés

 

falls on cypress branches

temblores en el aire

shivers in the air

 

la lluvia nocturna

evening rain

 

on stone pavement

seeps into a dry bed–

the sigh of quenched roots

 

la tarde de otoño

autumn afternoon

 

streaks my hair blue-gray

trembles on maples in gold

las caídas como oro en hojas de arce

 

wet morning

 

una mañana mojada

brushes mildew the starlings

frost on my thoughts

 

on tips of purple basil

autumn crackles into dreams

the sound of dying

 

el suenos de morir

 

Spanish words haven’t left me–they hover around, prance and whisper not to me but the starlings. I’m not sure if I’m getting the words right but this is how they do their dance in my consciousness. No jornal again for me? How much should I tag ‘the sigh of quenched of roots’?