Listening to a psalm, In Sanskrit, at noon In order to wake up From hung over sleep – It appears as if he has Been asleep for days, Been walking for nights.

His head slumped on the desk, The disheveled room, the dried Out tongue, the caked sweat All smelling of alcohol, Thinking this is how An exile loses his gods.

My dear are The first maple leaf That fell this autumn

And which is now Suspended from a thread Of spider silk

Spun between two trees Deep in my bone forest.