We gathered berries on an autumn day
from trees that grew beside the road.
The ripe ones were behind thorns.
Why is that, you said.
The day was so calm and beautiful,
the berries were like black bells
from which no sound rose.
I looked for my hands, they were entirely red,
as if there was blood on them, bright red blood.
The evening was so calm that I could hear your thoughts
as you walked so carefully among the thorns
with your red boots, with your legs so tall and white.