116 The autumn world has reached the state of tarnished bronze -- The age of memory -- and time will be no more; The stage of elements -- no more of folded space -- Forever fire apart from water, earth from air; The fever of the leaves apart from wooden bones, The cure of the keys apart from closing doors; The copula of tongue apart from broken words; The glitter of the sun apart from tarnished bronze -- And when the world is minted in the metal seeds, My coins of eyes will be your ransom from the wind.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems