And if you fly down facing the sidewalk

And if you fly down facing the sidewalk

from the highest window without your fear,

you leave behind a footstep of air, 

transparent, light, not yet someone’s.

The city will squeeze it 

in its quicksands of people,

will grind the memories and words, 

will turn them compassionately, 

yet methodically,

into nothing  

You run, run. 

in your heavenly pastures. 

helplessness of blood and clay. 

Run.   

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips

The Bulgarian  text first appeared in ‘Wings Made of Papier Mâché ’ (Janet-45, 2019)