Autumn

Tubercular sun 

Field turnips 

Low to the earth breathe 

clouds like large gray lindens 

And from their boughs fly birds

comedians 

abandoning their last summer station 

At the forest’s threshold licking his wounds

is ragged sweaty October 

in waterlogged fields 

crucified by autumn 

Trembling poplar 

Bare as a sentence 

Close the windows! 

Summer has gone