You lie between the times that lie in you
back to back. You are a windy tree, its portrait
on the surface of the water, as if it were
a fall again, the leaves fallen and the house
not suitable for wintering, as if the birds
had migrated from you to me. You are a from
the sheath for a military greeting pulled saber,
the outdoors taker of the associations, in the
open place you free them from the leading string.