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Peycho Kanev

Through the hole

It is autumn, and she is gone.
Turbid puddles conquer the square,
the fall of the leaves makes love
with the typewriter –
me – licentious and introverted,
indifferent even to the sky,
me – real-deceptive,
against this soup color outside,
here, behind the desk.

I saw through the gentle drizzle,
through the cold autumn yarn,
how the fog slowly falls
over the parting, dried
branches
over the soaked grey streets,
on two lonely figures –
mother and her child –
hurrying toward the light.

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Peycho Kanev is a Chicago poet whose work has been published in Poetry Quarterly, The Arava Review, Windmills, Mad Swirl, and many others.