early autumn

the dripping beeches’ souls creak at night
their rings expanding like ripples on the water
starting point of the world and the north
a concentric circle

cyclamens sense
somnolence seeping in bolder
eroding the bulbs
as it settles on their fertility

herons move september
from one side of the lake to the other
following the sun sliced in reeds
as loud women are washing the clothes
knee-deep in ice-cold water
cracking open like spiny husks of chestnuts

only one thing’s left to do
to plow through the depth of dream once more
share the remaining light with deer
who strip their fur before twilight
and warm the women’s hands

rana jesen

rana jesen