The hills next to Kulata

are a broken mirror

each peak a shard

that has fallen

to the ground

lost its place

abdicated responsibility

The windmills are

little hairs

stuck under the glass

How they got there

how they lodged so fast

no one knows

The mirror itself

is the sun

an actress waiting

to go on stage

Her glow precedes her

Her cheeks flush

The light from

her dressing room

streaming through

the open door

warns of her imminent coming

You have barely

settled in your seat

and she is there

You realize you never actually

saw her

enter the stage

You saw she was coming

and then she was there

Someone spilt their coffee

abdicated responsibility

Suddenly they were not there

The coffee spread

like molten lava

reflecting

the new sunlight

and the cleaning lady

whose day had just begun

was left to mop up

the molten copper

precious sunlight

carelessly spilt

to give her work

This is what happens

when a drop of wonder

falls into our world

Thursday, 7 am

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