By Marina Zrnic
In the woods the summer dies.
It howles and whistles as broken dignity,
such is the night of the autumn equinox.
The church bells provide us
with a shallow feeling
of our existence echoing through our souls and teeth.
We walk and we sleep without talking,
we´ve replaced the talking with the suffocating breathing
that I had not known,
not even in the darkest times.
Forest is such a suitable place
for a lady like myself.
I lick my wounds among the wolves,
sprinkle the salt to protect me.
I feel fine, so accomplished.
I´ve given up on all common ideas,
my bed is cold and austere.
I wake up as soldiers do,
I march wherever the universe decides,
I have no wishes of my own.
Maybe just to always walk
among the equinox trees in the night.
No need to talk, because words fall
as apples from the trees.
They make a hole in the ground,
in my soul.