My first night in Leuven, your messy dirty room
was scented with the flavour of the apples you had brought home from the farm where you worked.
I couldn’t see them. They were scattered somewhere in the dark corners of the room.
'Sometimes the apples smell so bad, and I have to search the whole room to look for them,' you said.
I didn’t know that would be haunting,

as I didn't know Camilo with chestnut trees in Brusselstraat would be the place to live my last
days in Leuven, 2007.
I left there a year of little happiness, just like the previous years.

Where I am living now is filled with autumn—
Shiningly red apples on the tables.

Picking apples from the trees, I have never done
Sorting out apples into categories, I have never done—
The scent of the apples in the dark corners that year hurts my eyes.