Copihue Poetry

In the yard, two birds perch in the tree
Which means it will snow tomorrow
Fire in the stove, tree leaves still fall
Someone knocks on the door
And there are other noises
In the evening, I can hear far, miles away
No one cries, the valley frosts
In the wooden house, someone will die
By a warmed-up stone
A lady picks a flower
That we’ve never seen
Its blinding blue, bluer
Than the cold and the night