This season births a golden brown hue
Painted on red leaves heaved
By the warm wind this fall evening
One can read the imprint of time which stuns
A network of living paths, on the brown veins
Like a body’s own, lifted
Led, by October ravished
Over the hills and dunes.

This network of veins I own
Forming this soft orange dream
And this hair tousled
By the season’s fire, mad about
The golden muses’ whispers, fairies
The tracks of the stealthy squirrels
Vivid ribs imprinted into the warm clay
Keep my feet to this fall soil
This secret carved into yew.

Appoline
Translated and written on October 24, 2016.
Lyon