November

Come, small one
and gather your things:
We are unburdened now.

Let us leave this rain
to look for new rain,
and let fresh lies
bury our deceit.
Look out into the fields, and see!
How they are overturned,
and the garden plots abandoned.

We will go out from this sickness
in search of the land
where we cannot recognize hollow faces.

We are resurrected.
Beyond this grave lies another,
and the new fields full of fresh sorrows.