September

When I was born, the mother laughed cursing death,
and the cities` tenthousand cats hunted for September
while running scratching his flowing coat

September vanishes each time he comes
He can not be blamed, that his coat flows
He had said to me:' For you girl there is enough room
in my breast pocket. I fetch you like a faithful servant,
tear you from the claws of your dance.
Forever. Just think of me.'

September places chestnuts and dormant cats under my door.
An impatient omen.

Mother grows old and takes milk from my hands.
'It all comes back' she laughs in tears.