Round the summer, wheels the heel
heaving rusk, dogwood–corn
acorns raw, on the ground.
Huge heat, hot and heavy–breathing
clean–cut brow, pale sail
hot breasts burn on the rug.
Flocks aflowing, a brilliant web
children chase, a sun–struck sprig
rooster dusts up the grass.
Harvest bursts, a sturdy farmhand
grass ablaze, a glistening stallion
river yearns that windless feeling.
Translated by: Aneta Gorgievska and Michael Szporer