The evergreen trees are verdant,
the deciduous ones – orange and red.
I’m dressed inappropriately.
Sometimes I catch up with you,
we exchange insignificant phrases about the work at hand.
I’m smarter than usual when talking with you.
Your cheeks continue to hollow out,
your pantlegs flap in the wind.
I lift my arm to point
in the direction of your disappearance,
and helplessly withdraw it back.

I feel you closer than ever,
and I don’t feel like talking at all.

Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova