HISTORY
The meadows rose
they picked up their bodies in the morning and left
they closed a dandelion clock and its wind into travel bags
they left so that they also took the memory of themselves
in the morning nobody looked for the grass
the slopes were bare the soil was carried away
nobody knew it was an ordinary morning
a girl opened a picture book a farmer made a furrow
I ran across the field
nobody told us
until one day a blade of grass accidentally grew
and suddenly all meadows have long been there
Translation: Glorjana Veber