A cat
upon the white fence with turkish tiles.
Apples
burned by the sunset and instantly ripe.
Thorns
beside the stone wall – bearded dead men.
Dusk
has forsed the doors and lain down the rooms.
A grass-snake,
as an old host, slips away beneath the treshold
inviting me
inside
with my father’s
eyes.
Translated by Biliana Kourtasheva, Plamen Arnaudov