Yesterday
the neighbors cut the pear tree.
I can still hear that fall
although now
through the windows
I can see the stars.
Easily.
Today,
while the landscape is dreaming
I am
looking at the sky
over the stump.
And I am afraid of the dead, yellow leaves
and the shivering of the dry branches.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem