In their reflections, labyrinths of rain, labyrinths of birds

 Because it's never too late for what exists. When the rain awaits us. Its streets, its houses, its walls. They scratch. While they try to retain the escape on the wall. The bigger the labyrinth gets. As his paws wrap around the dead end. Stacked underground labyrinths. Secretly interconnected. He doesn't get out of his shadows. Your tangles. Others grow from them in the likeness of new roots like passageways. In their reflections, labyrinths of rain. Bird mazes. No exits. Birds flying at right angles from mazes. Within its walls, locked up.