Within the vineyards sun whispers
Bacchus’ metamorphosis –
revival of pleasures and anger

Trees tremble their leaves in torment
for the wind will bring aging –
birds on the sky started their roving

Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud – their laughs,
wearing black and red, got still
The cold fog, the fist of leaves … my thrill

Ravens crossing the bloody sun
with apathy; an old gun
brings back to life the lost glow: Autumn