Praise the evening for it has severed ties
with shadows, heaping rice
kept for a wedding we had anticipated and missed.
The morning will bend its knees; thus say
goodbye to the emptying of night,

and its continuum. There, I pick up the pieces,
throw them up in the air, hoping they’ll
reunite to that kept promise
I’ve whispered a long time ago. If it still
gives light, there I’ll write poetry.