képek, betűk

tonight the milkman’s truck lit me from behind,
the maple leaves caught fire;

I’d never seen such orange flames before;
a hush of reverence -- as if someone turned back
a peaceful page in a book with no people,
a novel about leaves:
how they sprout, grow, and fall down.

above them; the Moon chose to die, So
it didn’t come, though it had agreed to dance;
it smiled once, hidden behind its pillows.

Tonight, even the dew stayed away --
no one to cradle my steps, to look after me;
I just ran, alone, as I must have done.

life and death meant a strange breath,
I barely knew they existed; I only moved
without aim, like the leaves, the clouds,
and the cool air rocked by the wind,
everything jus Was, and the same will be --
again, the nothing. I just walk, alone,
as I must, and care about nothing.