mom,

i write to you at night, when

silence is merciless

to words

the door between death and

now is open the memories – full moons of

tired phosphorus

support the firmament

of the unspoken

one day i will

write you the best

poem where

we‘d have

a future

tense

the words won’t be flowers upon your grave

and the door behind us

will close

but not now,

mom,

Translated by Elitza Yakimov

Edited by Tom Phillips