Henrik Nordbrandt: 'The rust-red sail'

The rust-red sail

Simple it has probably never been

but I recall a pale sea with some white

and unless I am mistaken a single

rust-red sail

a smell of dead fish and tar

and behind my back a rustling

of what I later learned

was called ‘lyme grass’.

Also from the word ‘yarrow’

I then understood that I had been born

and what that involved. And for that

reason I collected stones

and was fond of steel implements

but was afraid of what was alive

the creeping ivy with its nestlings

that died so quickly

and the insects that live in old furniture.

It was always those sails that were farthest out

that held my gaze longest.

And precisely then everything was as simple

as when I recollect it

right now:

The rust-red sail’s

verdigris shadow on the pale water.