Some mornings
I'm resting with the rest,
no pain,
sailing with the Earth;
my senses fully Earth senses,
my thoughts bare and even,
like the horizon;
fear just a word, four letters;
a four-letter word,
acceptance sweet like honey,
like light

”Here” has a dead weight,
undetectable
as long as I don't disturb it,
and the collected knowledge
& tradition
of engineers & craftsmen
have a house raised
around me
like a long-lasting thought;
a well intended gift,

but when I lift
the heavy Swedish-English dictionary
to within sight,
its density & mass balances
on the equilibrium of star clusters,
and I wonder,
- without letting it interfere -
whether this poem would've been better off
being cut short after ”honey”, after ”light”