It is better if you pass through my world like a breeze,
like the language of rustling
when wind moves leaves.
Then I will feel I am not alone,
that my separation is a ripe fruit and a road.
Then I will be aware and accepting
of the autumn inside me.
I will rejoice in the yellowish color of the leaf I become,
I will not fear the fall
or the journey of the wind that abducts me,
that wind without a country.