автор: Veselin

The sidewalks resemble Udine
The archs are fairy grеy.
When you sketch Venecia
My eyes are gazed
at yours.
It´s difficult to listen!
When you paint me Boticceli.
In all my poems for the lunatics
the bravest claim to be the wretches.
The sun crops up from nothing.
It tears the horizon into pieces.
The cliffs stretch out a scarecrow,
that shutters into crystals...

...the sidewalks resemble Udine...