Petr Borkovec Biography

March flies swarm and spill.
Blistered prints of dragon-flies and frogs.
Dream zones of bright verdure.
...

The tail of the damsel-fly
blown up a bit with blue.
She taps, as she would
...

The owl breathes into the night.
I imagine the circle of its mouth.
I enter a forest made of owls,
...

I touch you with a hand
in which I have no feeling.
Lupins break out on the slope.
...

The heron walks. The marsh is hunched.
Above it, another with ragged wings.
‘It's my birthday!' says the first.
...