Bulls in My Blood

We forgot the summer my friend.
Look:
the rain murmurs
and the insects are helplessly dying
on the outer side of the window.
We are captured by cold darkness,
biting us
and it will be like that for long.
The wind is coming on black horses,
someone-s paw beats under my heart,
the scent of quince is crumbling the stars,
restlessness,
as a wounded beast sleeps under the eaves.