In the woods the summer dies.
It howls and whistles like broken dignity,
such is the night of the autumn equinox.
The church bells provide us
with a shallow feeling
of our existence echoing through our souls and teeth.
We walk and we sleep without talking,
we´ve replaced the talking with the suffocating breathing
that I had not known,
not even in the darkest times.
Forest is such a suitable place
for a lady like myself.
I lick my wounds among the wolves,
sprinkle the salt to protect me.
I feel fine, so accomplished.
I´ve given up on all common ideas,
my bed is cold and austere.
I wake up as soldiers do,
I march wherever the universe decides,
I have no wishes of my own
but to always walk
among the equinox trees in the night.
No need to talk.
Words fall as apples from the trees.
They make a hole in the ground,
in my soul.
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