WE ARE ALREADY OTHERS

... summer is leaving;
there is a kind of fading, a sensation like broken air and cold glare,
as if from here to there things were summoning a grimace of deep and expectant sadness;
... and yet, everything is full and rests,
or crosses wearily like an ox that harbors the efforts of the world to return home;
... already, we are others;
the lark vibrated in the blood at noon
and already, the creeper, with its tin leaves,
cracks our shadow and touches our shoulder;
... and the heart knows it and trembles,
so that, unconsciously, it gathers its small belongings without order:
the fountains, the deep droughts,
the bile,
the voice,
the total passion,
the death;
... flocks of sparrows pass by.
*** Antonio Justel/Orion of Panthoseas https://oriondepanthoseas.com ***