A poem from Lars Gustafsson's latest collection 'On the Use of Fire'

Roach

This was the strange word

that I looked for in my dream

And was quite unable to find.

I woke up

having dreamt of a fish

with red eyes

easy to catch with chewed bread

on a bent pin

So much more sluggish than fair bleak

those warm shorewater’s

indefatigable dancers

                  *

Yes, this dream was full

of beauty and dancing

And no one in the whole world knew

That the roach is called roach.