is to sip table wine while watching the candlelight
and observing the dancing shadows on the walls.
I see the soup color of the approaching winter
through the smoky window and I hear
the sound of the burning logs in the fireplace.
Stillness about,
hanging around like a muffled clock, absorbing
the quacking of the flock,
flying toward the setting sun;
dew falling from the leaves of trees outside,
and the prolonged howl of the wolves when even
your heart has come to a halt.
At the bottom of this cardboard box
I found the old picture.
You and me, smiling, singing—
young and stupid.
It was Sunday then.
No church, just whiskey and beer.
Whiskey and beer, the guitar behind us,
silent like a beehive in January.
I sit in the chair now
and pour whiskey in two glasses.
I drink them down.
Peycho Kanev is the author of four poetry collections and two chapbooks. He has won several European awards for his poetry and he's nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Net. Translations of his books will be published soon in Italy, Poland and Russia. His poems have appeared in more than 900 literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Columbia College Literary Review, Hawaii Review, Cordite Poetry Review, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, The Coachella Review, Two Thirds North, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.