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Alfonsas Andriuškevičius

*** Look at those clouds, look – their heaviness, weighing on the horizon. Well, all that marble! Huh, and basalt! Well, and granite too! It’s not heavenly, you say? But heroic for all that, yes, my child, heroic. And no chagrin d’amour for you here, no, no cante jondo either. *** Summer now, and the sweet milk of June

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Aušra Kaziliūnaitė

golden fleece, fur, an apple and us Run, comrade, the old world is behind you! we walk with churches at our backs we look for a fitting street in which to drink up the leftover night we look for a fitting street in which to scream out our leftover light we are busted mufflers, yes,

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Sigitas Parulskis

9. The Mountaineer Simonas uncorks the bottle of wine and pours the old man a glass, then one for himself. The old man smells the wine, and closes his eyes. His nose is probably the only sensory organ that he can still trust. After taking a cab home, Simonas slept for half an hour, but

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