‘This autumn, a consolation’
one page and I am already tired of it
the extremes of this story saunter towards me
like young wolves
floating in the dusk with heir slender bodies
their knowing paws
thinking of themselves as poems
the sun slides along the horizon
confused I wake up
where some trees are burning bright
and I stretch my limbs towards
their desires
longing for their eyes their visions and their teeth
I do see them everywhere
I swear
into the frame of a door
of emptiness
beasts, as brothers
monsters, as lovers
coming into
this autumn of
consolation, my sins,
believing they are my twins
- wolves (born in spring).
Erminia Passannanti, Oxford 20.04.2002
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