Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

380 · Tatjana Komissarova
Reflections
The river is flapping my city’s reflections:
Two phantoms – the real and fictional city.
It looks like a craftsman has set up a mirror,
To hail the retreat of black plague or famine.
All houses have instantly doubled their height
And let the lower flats to overweight fish.
The bridges have planted their pillars into one another
And hang in the universe like airborne giants.
We swim through the spires of sunken Manhattans
And give ourselves to the river’s hypnosis.
Forgetful of the actual, we sink into the unknown,
And the fish imitate our movements.
Night guests
They’ve come to their old courtyard,
They are playing dominos,
Their talk is unhurried.
A window is open up high,
And an old gramophone
Is singing silently of nothing, from above.
All this is strange – not real, nor a dream.
Cold rain is beating against the asphalt,
But they don’t seem to care.
Will you play dominos with them?