Presagio

It smells like rain
deep in the woods
and in the sky, thunder drums roar.

It smells like rain,
my grandfather used to say,
water clubs
pound the hills.

And the wind has turned black
and tastes like fear
and there fly vultures
in a whirlwind over the rooftops
and spiders get tangled in my hair.

It smells like rain...

And time is a hole
and tastes like gunpowder,
it writhes in the skin
of misfortune, the bad hour.
It smells like rain in the desert
and in the distance...

There are big animals
breaking the jungle
swallowing the trees.

They are the