Grasses, nettles,
advance into autumn
with silkiness
and a slow tenderness.

Autumn, a flavour
that separates things,
that pulls them apart.

It rains on a roof
as if on a coffin
while the grass-blade grows
like a young wing.

The same sap nurtures
the grasses, the nettles.

Miguel Hernández Translation by A. S. Kline