The rain of light caught in water
lightly traces the skin of me
the light in each a mark of time
as we pass the faces of cork oaks
unseen and so of each other 
I seem a translation of you
you of me and made of words
as years of rain-held meanings
as you take hold of my hand
turn your face in and of light
to me in the rain and of the rain
as all of our meetings meet again 
here in the lightest of gestures.