Bookmark and Share

a poem by Peycho Kanev


The shadows are thicker near the harbors,
the ships are looking like ghosts,
the water runs cool and dry down my sleeve
and the memories are forgotten.

They are coming from spaces that I will never see,
where the shadows are not different from the rest,
and my soul is their cargo, their dead weight,
but none of this matters any more.



Return to Issue 34