The wind’s murmur brings
some words to my ear
as I slowly walk along
the dusty road.
The name of my mother – whispered?
Dead voice, blowing out of the beginning
There’s the sea with its water, salt and calm,
purifying our hands, sins.
And the mountain in the distance, with the summits,
tired of the thousands of sunrises, full of faded light
and pale blue oblivion.
Anything that can exist is here
and it is not.
The wind is trying to tell me something,
but I walk on.
The secret is beyond me.
Peycho Kanev is the author of four poetry collections and two chapbooks, published in the USA and Europe. He has won several European awards for his poetry and his poems have appeared in many literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Front Porch Review, Hawaii Review, Barrow Street, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.