Two warm grains in the eyes of the titmouse

We stretch our hands and flap-flap: is gone

The branch shivers

In its place


Look here

I’m building my afterlife before

My branch shivers too

But I am home I am always here

Dressed just in myself like the sword of Toledo


Although is almost September with fruits gone

To warmer countries

I think I’ll take autumn and throw it to the ground

And then I’ll pretend to vegetate

Of course

I’ll be watching