Simeon Gasparov
Photo: Loop_oh
The scrawny sun
in the crisp tenderness of
telegraph wires
has tripped
while
chasing its newborn
inspiration.
And remained
there,
hanging as a shining ball,
until the end of Indian summer.
After the first rain of October quietly
Rolled back
on our last,
dusty,
southern,
lost
highway…
…One homeless
dream
barked
with
happiness
when it
saw it.
From my first book with poetry published in Bulgaria in 1992
slgasparov@comcast.net
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