From the top of the mountains the twilight blows
with crimson lips
into the ashes of the clouds
the embers hidden
underneath their flimsy wave of ash.
which emerges chased from the sunset
gathers its wings and settles trembling
on a leaf:
but too heavy is the burden –
and the leaf falls.
Oh, the soul!
Let me hide it better in my chest
so that not one ray of light should reach it:
it would crumble.
It is autumn.