the scar on your knee
The scar on your knee, the olive bread
the transparent resin in the air,
the blue chair on which I listen to jazz
the blue chair from which I hear the silence,
the blue rain inside the cloud
that crosses the sky and goes by,
magnificent like a big screen love affair,
and sweet as melancholy.
A tower of cards is the body of August.
Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips
The Bulgarian text first appeared in ‘Wings Made of Papier Mâché ’ (Janet-45, 2019)
