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31
12 poems
Water shivers in a glass
From the cold. Its feminine trembling
From the cold. Now the nights are cold,
In another moment—the first leaf will fall.
A year of our love already has passed,
And all, it seems, is the scent of that leaf
And that water in a glass. And it won’t be long
To this year that’s already passed.
And a shoe tossed aside,
Clothes on a chair, and till morning
A tunnel wind makes the water froth in the glass—
In another moment, and a stream will break out from it.
In a way that a century maybe is just a step.
When the black silk tunnel burns,
And August like an unexpected shout,
And all of life is a stream or a gulp...