๐ ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐บ๐ป ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฒ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐บ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ป๐ถ๐ป๐ด๐
๐บ ๐๐๐พ๐ ๐ป๐ ๐ฌ๐บ๐๐๐๐๐ฝ ๐ฃ๐บ๐๐๐๐๐.
I love autumn and the shade of meanings.
Delighted in autumn by a light obscurity, transparency of handkerchiefs, like poetry just after birth, dazzled by the incandescent night or the dimness of light.
It crawls, and finds no names for anything.
I like a light rain that wets only the distant others: Once, in a similar autumn, a wedding parade of ours crossed ways with one of the funerals, and the living celebrated the dead, the dead theย living.
I delight to see a monarch stoop, to recover the pearl of the crown from a fish in the lake. In autumn I delight to see the radiance of colors, no throne holds the humble gold in the leaves of humble trees, an equality in the thirst ofย love.
In autumn I delight in the complicity between vision and expression.
I delight in the truce between armies, awaiting the contest between two woman poets, who love the season of autumn, yet differ over the direction of its metaphors.
And I like in autumn the collusion between vision andย phrase.