Here in Sofia, where traffic
flows too thin to jam,
unwelcome October snowflakes
toy with the city
like apprentice alchemists.

Flat tower blocks roofs
are thin in their cover:
chimney stacks, aerials, logs protrude.
Sloping roofs below shape better,
obliquely white. Cottages,

though few remain, fare better still:
each detail of trellis, porch or tree
magnified by snow, their
blemishes, rust, decay extinguished,
individuality heightened,

as Mammon coats the eyes, the ears,
of cottagers, tower-dwellers, homeless,
with dreams of cargo,
like Chinese whispers,
and bides his time.