Poem by the Swedish writer Werner Aspenström

The dogs

The night is vast.

The heavens turn in silence.

The moon sails with icy prow.

These howling dogs,

what is it they are seeking?

The one whose hackles rise,

the one that whimpers like a child,

the one who snaps up the spark

from a star – they are powerless,

their thirst cannot be quenched here.

Why then do they roam the length of valleys

and over the crater-strewn fields?

What is it they are seeking in the mountain caves

and in the abandoned cities?

Here they are only lizards with skins of leather

and stars and the night is vast

and the heavens turn in silence.