This by Steve Komarnycky


happened as trees do slowly
Each new twig a parting
Of the ways continually
A place the birds could sing,
Reading the Braille of sky
And now it sieves the light
For nuggets of gold

To cast a shadowy forest
On the walls of our study,
Its branches fruited with books,
A cold coffee, two laptops.
It watches us. The dog
With eyes of Baltic amber
The cat’s whiskers

Spun from sunlight, your face
Enraptured as the jay alights,
His wings with epaulettes
Of summer sky. One day
We will stop talking and listen
To the most important thing
It has to say. For now it signs

With many hands, frantically,
Being deaf. I listen but don’t see.


Steve Komarnyckyj’s literary translations and poems have appeared in Index on Censorship, Modern Poetry in Translation and many other journals. He is the holder of two PEN awards and a highly regarded English language poet whose work has been described as articulating “what it means to be human” (Sean Street). He runs Kalyna Language Press with his partner Susie and three domestic cats.

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