in an empty
winter morning park,
the autumn is still lingering,
welcoming me with a red-carpet
covered with brown leaves.
Nude trees are seducing me
as if women in red-light street
are doing for stranded men.
The high and blue sky
is woman’s mind
not wanting to say good-bye.
The winter maybe is the owner of the park,
but my heart hugs a piece of autumn sky
and my pocket cherishes a crumbled fallen leaf
and my hand grabs a naked twig.
The autumn driven away by the winter
is building its nest in me.
I meet a woman whose name is Autumn,
a woman who blossoms only in autumn;
a little bird in a winter park,
that is singing farewell,
but won’t leave.