The body of summer

beneath the January frost I imagine 

the slender body of summer – 

swinging skinny shoulders, flirting 

squeezing nimbly out of night`s paws 

rolling cranberry laughter down the green pastures of June 

travelling far with twilight conversations – ships 

that break the ice in the wedged chalice of July 

dim-eyed is August – a wasp blended forever 

with the flesh of the fig  

lists, they say, are a deficiency, a no-good shortcoming 

in a poem’s body  

just as lilacs are but a dream 

in the grove-like bosom 

of expectation 

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov

Edited by Tom Phillips