Cut-Through Poem by Petr Borkovec
Cut-Through
The owl breathes into the night.
I imagine the circle of its mouth.
I enter a forest made of owls,
I imagine, to flush out firs.
The maple, by day all cut through,
now's like a fawning dog.
He sits upon my lap. He licks me.
He wags his docked tail.
Translated into English by Justin Quinn
Sunday, October 9, 2016
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6/2/2024 11:24:04 AM # 1.0.0.1119
