Autumn Poem by Hussein Barghouthi

In the autumn of moonlit peaches, I walk toward your house,
In dew placing foot
And your house in the hills, surrounded by oranges surround it,
And my sadness ends, and under the snow, pinnacles growing cold;
Nude pinnacles, with starlight they exhume; do I love you?
I know not!
I came to you out of friendship,
Through the whirlwind of ash.
I did not promise you another story,
And forests of pines set under the sun in the centre of these towns.
What do I explain at your door,
Other than my love for the breadths of space?