Poems
Salotto
A value judgment runs smoothly on the surface of the mind
wave-like rippling up towards a serene space of pure feeling.
Look at your hand now, and intuit the difference between here
and what stood straight to your right within a single glance.
Overlooking the valley on point C looking down the
slope where at point H the scattered volley of cannons
deployed in parallel from my observation point denoting
my capacity for orientation which is a foreknowledge of steps
constituted by an accordance between the means to any given end.
A man, a village, a cow, the bodies of a hundred horses could be
right at that moment, in front of me, for as far as I could tell by
the ur-cut through a fog, so thick I could bring it to my mouth
for a bite.
But it was always horses, it was always horses, anyway,
the Andrzej cavalry, vectorial, shed them like dandruff.
Every finite set of points in the plane has a triangulation
hanging on the field, I called them Constallionations.
Anton Ivanov is an Italo-Bulgarian poet from La Spezia. His poems have appeared in Fence, Wonder, Sarka, Triangle House, Blush, and elsewhere.