July by Violeta Boncheva translated by Ann WoodJULY
And tonight, tricked by July,
I will strip my hot shirt,
I will look down at the dry spring
from the troubled sun tired.
He will wring his hair rainy
and I will wind the wind accidentally.
from the sound of his wings
grass weary will light up.
On the watermelon I will raise the bark,
will gather the wet seed
and the sweet smell will drown,
and I will bloody the air with bliss.
And suddenly drowned and bold,
I will step on her bark green.
And my hopes will slip
to the autumn that I will knock.
Poetry by antoniya katelieva-wood
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Written on 2018-07-01 at 20:00
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