Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Cobolt [10 Poems] Translated from Romanian by Andrew K. Davidson Love Poem

The wooden horse no longer swings garden gnomes have fallen on their faces.

I knew you in the month of red fruit, when hands were a collapsed sensu.

My sad face passed near you, before you, it invented a part of the sky, then some hills, a herd of horses and a border of fog to keep you from leaving again, and remembering all about desire about its violent fragrance my face went groping through roots in the dark.

The peacock was sleeping when you passed through water at dawn, as through slow blood. ˲

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