In Belgorod
In Belgorod, a person was killed
In Niemisel, it is raining;
wet orchids stand along the roadside ditches
In my bed I lie newly awake,
recalling fragments of dreams;
the room is just the right size
The radio on the bedside table speaks Swedish
The cats have been out all night,
come in with wet fur,
gobble down their food, are soon asleep,
curled up at the foot of the bed
In Belgorod, a person was killed
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-07-07 at 11:10
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