The fervent or seeing
the branches bend and
warmer still or breaking
heavy with fruit what
tender along the leaves
and lost lies shining

For lonely and mild close
it was said to last light
sinks haloed by voices
the head the hand it
was I called you and
stillness the autumn light

Your park your bench
with chirping chestnuts
falling splitting open on the
gravel sand I saw your
foot a feather almost white
see-saw down and rest

Translated by Iain Galbraith.