Cold wind
@@ -34,9 +35,10 @@Man of autumn, cold wind,
blow down the trees’ leaves.
Fire on the ground. The sky
perfect water, frost-cold,
rippled only by flocks
of black birds flying, gone.
Their brightness can blind
an uncareful watcher, work him
in a froth of hands, not-wings
that ache with the loss of flight.
A tear is flung faithfully
to the ocean of air, slipping in
slowly, is as gone as the birds.
Man of autumn, cold wind,
blow down the trees’ leaves.
Fire on the ground. The sky
perfect water, frost-cold,
rippled only by flocks
of black birds flying, gone.
Their brightness can blind
an uncareful watcher, work him
in a froth of hands, not-wings
that ache with the loss of flight.
A tear is flung faithfully
to the ocean of air, slipping in
slowly, is as gone as the birds.