in the first blush of morning—
I join him, sneezing
Through gloom like a glove,
a gash in the raw dawn sky—our slow train grumbles
In the garden, I
sit lonely and underdressed—the birds sing triplets
(translated from Velko’s
Bulgarian)
*
Lone crow squalls at dusk—
gazing at the palm tree bark
like an ancient scroll
A white wine spritzer;
shrill chatter in the cafe—maybe some whisky?
What more do I want?
Lying on a rumpled bed,birds heralding Spring
.
