Autumn vilanelle Poem by Jan Wagner

the days' light is running out
and an hour lasts a mere ten minutes.
the trees were playing their last colours.

in the sky the stage set's changing
too swiftly for the little drama in each of us:
the days' light is running out.

your grey coat separates you from the air,
a passepartout for a sentence such as this:
the trees were playing their last colours.

ice-blue windows - on the weather maps
of the tv sets the thumb prints of the lows.
the days' light is running out,

and the empty park's, the pond's: the ducks are
being reeled in on unseen threads.
the trees were playing their last colours.

and a man carrying three sunflowers
feels his way in the dark, three black spots on yellow:
the days' light is running out.
the trees were playing their last colours.

Translation: Georgina Paul