my hair goes from green
to red and yellow
bristling
my fingernails lose their summer sheen
become dull to scrape the cooling
waters
and then again
everything happens in october
i am not man
i am not tree
mineral i am not
i am the ethereal haze
growing sundry around
the straight down sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Autumn is a beautiful, but depressing season. It is really something, to watch the world die. Great poetry, as always, I expect no less.