* this rain has no moisture left , falls as the light from bells struck from behind the way all hillsides are hollowed out for stars no brighter than this grass though these graves never know where next , they listen for pieces , reminded by how the first sun broke apart -- they hear it in the dried up warmth for which your shadow is made -- what they hear no longer remembers your heart was where it was safe and before your heart waves that started its cry toward the second sun and then another , then another and yet this rain comes back even without a sky comes as in the beginning in splendor , not yet a morning on the over and over thirst still not allowed in the open .