Wednesday 30 March 2011

A poem by the Finnish writer Tua Forsström (who writes in Swedish)


Fish go to bed when darkness falls,
they cover themselves with sand and lie motionless
at night. Children close their eyes and suck
their thumbs behind rose-patterned curtains. But
flying fish hover on sleepless beneath the moon
six metres above the waves, eleven thousand metres
above the sediment and slime bed of the
Marianas Trench.

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