A yellow undershirt
flapping in the evening breeze
on the balcony.
A kingcup in the snow,
a fiery bush of forsythia,
a canary in love.
When it flew
over the desert of the neighborhood,
how bright things got
for the muddy path to the bus stop
and the sledding hill
with that lonely mutt at the top.
Translated by Piotr Florczyk