~*~

Death is leaning and
writes upon the sea's surface.
The Church it breathes gold.



Something has happened.
The moon lit up the whole room.
God knew about it.



The roof had a crack
and now the dead can see me.
Right into the face.



Hear the whistling rain.
I'm whispering a secret
to reach into it.



Scene on the platform.
What a remarkable peace -
the deep inner voice.



Tomas Tranströmer
from The Great Riddle, 2004

LPWJ eng version 25/02/10