Although it’s still summer

the surrounding peaks

are white with clouds of snow.

The creek by the road is springing like a goat.

You think, here it’s more beautiful than in heaven

but that overpowering thought is relieved

by a sudden shower: you seek shelter

in a bower gone wild by a ruined house.

In the living room, kitchen, hallway,

a plum tree, rose hip, nettles, thistles.

Behind the house an orchard,

a field

of mines.

Drops

of rain

dripping

from leaves,

from bunches

– grapes.

Translated by Omer Hadžiselimović

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