The Window by Brigita Pavshich
The window,
beyond,
a grove of bronze treetops
trembling like hunters impatient
for the chase to start.
The shutters
yielding slices of light
like slivers of cake,
mouth-watering, golden, unreachable.
So close is the autumn
with the ochre, brown, yellow dead.
Close, with the naked arms
of the standing hunters;
beyond
the window.
Brigita Pavshich lives in Slovenia. She has published short stories and poems in All Things Girl and Your Messages collection. She works as a literary translator and is currently finishing her first novel. She can also be found at her website: http://www.pausesbetweenthenotes.com
