It’s World Poetry Day,
the day when it’s perhaps better
not to encounter any poets.
I went out into the park with my labrador, Luna.
A yellow butterfly –
as if to mark the first day of spring –
draws its freedom trajectory between the earth and the sky.
For a second it seems like we’re all made of sun.
Still, it remains invisible how the poetry of the world comes alive,
just like that butterfly’s drawing up in the air,
you can hardly be certain it’s been here at all.
It’s already gone.
Translated from the Croatian by Damir Šodan