Here it is.
So small, almost nothing at all.
It is night and she sits in the rocking chair
on the porch, watching the dark sky.
All is gone now.
Dreams of youth, grandeur and offspring.
The time is slipping through, out her open
The leaves of grass are dead,
the summer kids are gone.
The stars flicker on the ceiling of the world.
Here they are.
So small…
Stars that should have been promised to
I am lying in the bed;
peering at the ceiling –
the bathroom door opens
and there she is:
body covered with moisture
beneath the towel,
at this moment
she is more than a miracle.
I can’t stand it,
I look away,
at the window.
in the garden
where the brown leaves fall
and cover the ground like
a burial shroud,
on the branch
of the old tree,
one robin is singing
or maybe calling for death to
come quicker
and I can see now,
in the grass below,
the cat creeps.
I look up
in the sky,
there are no limits
and it hangs like a veil
upon the world,
and the rooks
cut through the silence,
then it is enough for me
and I take a look at her again.
She stands in front of the mirror
combing this mass that I call
Fire and she calls hair;
with slow movements
one after another,
the comb drifting the Fire
and I can not take my eyes off,
I just stare,
listening to the sound of the comb
and this is how I wrote this title.
No change at all

This day is dusty
and dark, the fingers refuse
to push the buttons,
they grip the short cigarette and
I listen to the music that abandons the
and the brain records
the surroundings,
here it is:

I’m watching this white cover
with the red stains,
I see this overfilled ash-tray
as the day continues…

I open a beer and drink it,
and everything becomes more and
more shady.
Yes. That’s
I see in the bed two long legs like
and I ask myself :

“Wasn’t I alone in the room?”

I stretch my hand slowly
to touch them….


© Peycho Kanev

Peycho Kanev’s work has been published in Welter, Poetry Quarterly, The Catalonian Review, The Arava Review, The Mayo Review, Chiron Review, Tonopah Review, Mad Swirl, Posse Review, Southern Ocean Review, The Houston Literary Review and many others. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Award and lives in Chicago. His collaborative collection "r," containing poetry by Felino Soriano and him, as well as photography from Duane Locke and Edward Wells II, is available at Look for his new poetry collection, “Bone Silence,” published by Desperanto.