.
The Reality
.
The single begonia
opens and you go out of there and
get bloodied by the sunset’s light.
Who are you?
I sit in the green chair
in the middle of the green garden
and look at you.
I do not even breathe,
because I fear that you will
disappear.
It’s toward the end of the summer
and I dream that you are covered in snow,
like a snowman in a deserted wasteland,
but your skin is somehow glassy,
diffracting the light, and fragile.
Then I blow inside your lips,
you start to sing windy songs
of rotten memories and unchangeable future
and then I remember that every year
of your death it is spring
and I go back to sleep reassured.
The Observer
Darkness descends. The trees grow quiet.
Shadows over the world. The world is a shadow.
And who owns the densest obscurity?
All of you who were here but already left,
now dancing in rooms filled with sunshine,
where is the key to my invisible door?
Observer of all, I empty myself in you
and I remain the same.
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Peycho Kanev is the author of 4 poetry collections and two chapbooks, published in USA and Europe. He has won several European awards for his poetry and his poems have appeared in many literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Front Porch Review, Hawaii Review, Barrow Street, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.
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North of Oxford 