The Park (1999)

    
XXII.

It’s like a day and night –
one can’t define a border either in the sunset or within the sunrise
delimiting a fallen night from day gone by,
while light gradates towards a lesser light –
there isn’t any borderline between the world and me.
As I am more than all the senses I possess,
the world is something more than all its matter
and there around the subtle middle point where all of them converge
the world begins in me and I begin within the world.
But what is inside me and outside me?
But what for fear, and all the inexplicable anxieties,
the iceberg dreams: why, are they truly inside me,
and then the sun with its conspicuous warmth
and stones with finite number of their forms:
why, are they truly outside me, or
perhaps the wine with its distinct
capacities is also outside me.

Outside is in me but then in me is outside.
I leave my body through its nine departure points
into the realm of dreams and reverie,
into the open space of words
and go amongst my bees
and my own stars.

tr. by Peyo Karpuzov