I love this road at 6.30 in the morning . . .

I love this road at 6.30 in the morning, when
The solitary wind wakes up on a bench in the city square,
At a time of life, when you sleep badly no matter what
When you already don’t want to open every existing door,
Just certain ones. Along the Collegium,
Through Sheptytsky Square and
To the wall of the holy Cathedral, behind which it’s always dawn,
And never-changing street sweepers gather up the fallen leaves
From the street of an Osyp Sorokhtei drawing.

I love this road at 6.30 in the morning . . .