samaelstjerne

𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝗒 𝖬𝖺𝗁𝗆𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝖣𝖺𝗋𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁.

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 the 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 of 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 and phrase.