It Rains over...

It rains
over the vineyards,
over the roof
the theme
of the rain;
the long Ls of rain fall slowly
over the pages
of my everlasting love,
the vine,
this salt of every day;
rain,
return to your old neste,
return with your needles to the past;
today I long for the whitest space,
not a bottle of vine,
winter's whiteness for a branch
of green rosebush and golden roses;
something of infinite spring
that today was waiting, under a cloudless sky
and whiteness was waiting,
when the rain returned
to sadly drum
against the window,
then to dance with unmeasured fury
over my heart and over the roof,
reclaiming
its place,
asking me for a glass of wine
or
 to fill once more with needles,
with transparent time,
with tears,
when longing for spring.