Par Hansson (Sweden)

Translated by Tim Dinan

the boots are at home and the water into the jetty's extension

I used to see the grave I drank night-milk and stones fell over

I saw the sugar in the neighbour's window and something bobbed I didn't know what

now the outhouse light shines over stolen cap the bell-flowered brim itches my forehead

my boots on and the lake's crazy water out towards the drum that bobs

I used to see the grave and the sad context above

luck the radio is a faithful animal luck the wood dries within your shadow's stall

the geraniums interchangeable the panelling cracked in dry rings

the window is an open transparent sore

the dust vast no longer the particles dance one by one

if you stick your face in here the specks are drawn down into your lungs

on the other side of the firtree the farmer's ship hangs in white reins

the accordion is hung up over the landscape drawing on the wall

slip this over your face slip the bellow the wind the warm visions

the milk-blue breast rests before the telly I climb

along the walls the steep planes become solvable from very close up

balancing along the windowsills the wrought-iron bed and the armchair

from the top shelf I unfurl my heel-wings I hang

beneath narrow slivers of time I live beyond my boundaries

am part of something very great that can be difficult to handle

then I am the world I understand what I mean