Winter

December 21st. The snow falls gently
between the words. From the window
the horizon’s edge cuts me in half.
This Olympia SG3 is silent as a tomb.

Apples and weeds in the bowl
on the table with the red stained cover.
Ants cross their mutual paths as usual.
The secret is beyond us.

Peycho Kanev has been writing poetry for the past 10 years. His poems have appeared in more than 400 literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Welter, The Shine Journal, Ann Arbor Review, The Catalonian Review, The Arava Review, Nerve Cowboy, Chiron Review, Tonopah Review, Leaf Garden, Istanbul Literary Review, 322 Review, Mad Swirl, In Posse Review, Southern Ocean Review, The Houston Literary Review, The 13th Warrior Review, Mascara Literary Review, The Mayo Review, Windmills, The Aroostook Review, Naugatuck River Review and many others. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and lives in Chicago. His collaborative collection r, containing poetry by him and Felino Soriano, as well as photography from Duane Locke and Edward Wells II, was published in the spring of 2009 by Please Press. Also, his short story collection Walking Through Walls (Ciela, 2009) and his poetry collection American Notebooks (Ciela, April 2010) were published in Bulgaria. His new poetry collection Bone Silence was released in September 2010 by Desperanto, NY.

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One Response to Winter

  1. laura tattoo says:

    “Apples and weeds in the bowl
    on the table with the red stained cover.
    Ants cross their mutual paths as usual.
    The secret is beyond us.”

    i love your strong imagery; it speaks volumes. “the secret is beyond is us”, perhaps in the thing itself and nothing more. the search for meaning perhaps only ontological insecurity. it’s difficult to stay with the moment when life continuously wounds us.

    write on, dear peycho! xoxoxoxoxooxox

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