Translated from Bulgarian by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer if the mouse dies the cat stops playing with it there is a brief moment before the eating
It isn’t so much the Proclamation as the whiff of hope, night worrying bare branches and rooftops, nibbling the contours of a tired city.
(to Paul and Miriam on the birth of their son) Imagine a swaddled newborn suspended among stars, lighting a path through the sea, as