Yesterday fall

 

Fall of false yesterdays 

hidden in yellowed foliage
 

Aid to the blind who breathe on the glass 

to steal the sound of the rise of chrysanthemums.
 

Nobody has blood intentions, 

but violence explodes in the squares of the aftermath 

of the wind that herald spring.
 

An old lady with the snake tongue 

and the shrill voice of one who survives the east wind, 

sat there