Peycho Kanev

Ubiquitous Quietude

 

Go quietly, or you will disturb the dead.
The mist is so thick here, like a white
bushy beard.

Famine is a woman with fragile bones
that cries at night, asking over and over,
“Where is your God now?”

The shovels are muddy, the ditch is dug.
A turtle passes the cemetery, reminding us
that he will outlive us all.
Go quietly…

 


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