An abnormal quantity of rain: (chronicle of last judgement).

   For a hundred nights and a hundred days it has rained without
   stopping
   and the axes of the city
   describe
   extremely complicated angles. Today with an effort
   the President of the Republic got out of bed
   tilted absurdly
   as did his most trusted aides: hearty priests,
   various
   invariable
   international leaders,
   secretaries with sensational shapes
   and a flock of savage drunken buzzards
   flying in precarious formation.

   Upon the soft grass of mirages near the aurora borealis
   women lying with their lovers
   adopted strange positions,
   as did the sadness of servants
   and the vague benevolence of bodyguards, loan sharks and
   insurance salesmen.
   People fell like flies, poor writers and journalists
   with terrible painful marks on their faces made with indelible ink,
   retired gangsters (manufacturers
   of marks) addicted
   to blood-colored drinks
   and infallible experts
   on political labyrinths and the subtle
   inner workings of the transfiguring cloud
   of Banking.

   So much rain fell
   that travel was paralyzed
   and musical instruments fell mute.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

From The Return of the River, [c]2002 by Roberto Sosa. English translation by Jo Anne Englebert. Published by Curbstone Press. Distributed by Consortium.