In the tunnel of birdsong
A locked seal opens.
Death bends over me—
I’m a chess problem, and he
has the solution.
The darkening leaves
in autumn are as precious
as the Dead Sea Scrolls.
A wind vast and slow
from the ocean’s library.
Here’s where I can rest.
The power lines stretched
across the kingdom of frost
north of all music.
- Tomas Tranströmer (1931-2015)
- Translations by Robin Fulton
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