Someone, perhaps a benevolent magician, brings
Autumn up here, from somewhere of my childhood.
Days prolonged by the wind breathing
Over the city
Vanish into the thin air, as the phantasm of hot tea,
Finding shelter on the isle of my heart.
Every step carries underneath
A spot of colour, so - after dark -
My walking gathers beneath
The thickened tint of a painting.
The memory of a particular autumn, tender and vivid,
Glides
Over my lady shoe,
Over my thin jacket, imbued with blue air –
The blood of rain
Penetrating my skin.