Two, in the far north
we drive well
against each other-
we drive well, against
this wind-
our shadow leaps,
falls between
grasses that cluster, brown
and thick before
each rusting post, turn
slowly gold as the sun
slides amongst them- your hair
too, as wind touches
my hands, holding
the door handle
snow falls
to the back of my tongue
when we breathe,
there is no heat
two small gray breaths
beyond the grass.

Autumn Song
by Paul Verlaine

Violins complain
Of autumn again,
They sob and moan.
And my heartstrings ache
Like the song they make,
A monotone.

Suffocating, drowned,
And hollowly, sound
The midnight chimes.
Then the days return
I knew, and I mourn
For bygone times.

And I fall and drift
With the winds that lift
My heavy grief.
Here and there they blow,
And I rise and go
Like a dead leaf.

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