I walked outside the other day
and noticed the sky was almost
pretty.
Bright warm hues of a
summer day but I remembered
it was autumn.
Beginning with impeccable solitude
ticking and picking away
at nervous endings. I must stop
this clock in my mind.
I learned as a little person
that autumn was the due time
for the end
of nervous endings.
Father took my hand and made me feel-
a single, forlorn, windworn
leaf.
This reminded me of his skin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem