* * *
Is this Summer?
Conversing with love in a third language –
neither yours, nor love’s.
Wandering the cemeteries of a distant country –
strangers cuddling.
Masts among the huts, the fence – crumpled in the grass.
A village angel patching your shoes nearby,
nowhere to rush for.
Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova