The Park (1999)

I.

I now walk back into that shady grove
resembling a cathedral.
Two rows of trees
are planted close to one another,
their trunks so tall that tower,
their branches braiding up their crowns,
and in between the path below
is carpeted with grayish sand,
it reaches just as far as
the end and the beginning of the rows of trees.
On either side the grove extends
with shafts of light and shadows twining.

And that was all. No.
On my way to it
I passed a lake with so industrial a form.
With fading waves its water trembled,
rippled gently every now and then
by diving ducks and falling leaves.

Drawing near the shadow line below the vault
slowly I was walking in upon the path
between the silent trees, so uniformly
straight and sparkling with the air around.
Every step was filtering myself
through a painfully resisting tissue.

The air was cool.

With the tree standing last
the path gradually vanishes into
the road that lies across.


tr. by Peyo Karpuzov