Autumn will surely come; leaves will fall short of chlorophyll.
In the forest, with cupped hands I will scoop the thickness of the mists.
In summer, it is not as pleasant to get lost in translation.
Autumn will surely come, and again I will speak of the absurd and existentialism.
Together with students, we will debate whether a feminist perspective
Suits Kerouac’s most famous novel. I will speak of cigars and calvados,
I will teach creativity, drawing on King’s memoirs on writing.
Autumn will surely come; my cats and my snakes will shed the skin
in which they have lived until now. I will retreat into myself, toward winter, when
I read Nesbø again and watch “Dogville” – how beautifully the gloom
And ugliness fit inside!! November mud is my therapy.
Autumn will surely come, disinfecting all the surfaces that
Summer touched. October is a good time to be a forest wanderer whose
Paths are known only to beasts and birds. Again, I will dream of learning
To disappear – a temporary escapism that won’t require bloodhounds.
Autumn will surely come, I will cook beetroot soup, apply
Summer’s wounds with marigold ointment, kiss scraped knees,
Lock all the locks; twilight zones are the safest.