The streets flood again.
The rain drums endlessly against the window.
I make a cool room
in a dark polar night, in lingering shadows.
You stayed in the summer and behind the winds.
To fall from a leaf as a drop.
Into a slanting stream of a land of autumn colors
and so to be washed up into memories.
The polar night and the autumn stems from us.
November nights in the verses of our story.
The work of our longing is too great,
I cannot repair a piece.