Petr Borkovec Poems

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.
...

Then when it's dark this beetle
joins and unjoins the pear-tree leaves.
Two others turn the shelves of oak
...