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