Like wilted leaf it falls upon my soul –
this day that wearied me before its start:
interminably slow as a whole,
unmemorably fast in every part…
This day is full of empty conversations,
of actions I repeat without thought,
of petty, unimportant irritations
that cause no pain, of deeds that come to nought.
But in the evening burning leaves begin
to raise the flames to empty skies, like prayers.
I smell the acrid smoke through my skin
with clarity and sharpness of nightmares.
Contorted, twisted, dry, as black as coal,
the burning autumn leaves subsume my soul.
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