And I suppose you can hear traffic on Slivnitsa,
but for most of us it’s a pause with nothing in it.
The dog across the street wanders dully along.
Imperceptibly, the line between sunlight and shade
slips across an apartment block’s ochre façade.
A few late fig leaves drop into our path.
An ordinary afternoon, towards
four o’clock –
a man in winter jacket, cap, lets himself out
through a stern iron door, makes his way
with the household waste to a corner dumpster.
And yes, this may well be the kind of day
when an Icarus somewhere rises, then falls,
or a woman watering plants on her balcony
looks down and, yes, sees something amazing.
