Poem by the Swedish writer Lennart Sjögren

The things

It was best at the border close to daybreak –

that which grows visible after the hour of the wolf –

when with clear eyes the things could observe us.

The things are hardly human

nor animal either

but live like us in their tight-sealed shells

and when broken a scrunch is heard

of broken bones.

Do not ask me about their origins

or special destination –

just now though at the border of daybreak

I heard them bark like happy dogs

when the scent becomes sharp.