Toward the Top
Toward the top
everything is green and grey
the trees are ships
their bases covered with moss
smoke billows from their chimneys
When a wind arises
(or someone on deck)
they creak like old houses
full of ghosts
The trees have their foghorns
and lifeboats
Some fall in the water
where they slowly rot
others continue alongside
shoals
Toward the top
the cuckoo measures time
not as in a wall clock
but like a bell
the cuckoo is a compass as well
(showing you the way of the direction)
The ways to the top are currents
they can carry you off
But once you’re there
(should you be so lucky!)
green and grey melt
irises turn to sage
and insects aim for your eyes
Tsvetanka Elenkova
Translated from Bulgarian by Jonathan Dunne
Translated from Bulgarian by Jonathan Dunne