I TAKE A QUICK LOOK INSIDE A CHURCH
The cantor mainly just to practise
sits squeezing squirts of summer hymns
out of silver udders.
In the stall under the balcony the caretaker’s wife
has started on a woollen cardigan for a grandchild.
A swallow that has strayed in through an aperture
follows me out through the door.
What’s going on in the woods far off?
In Umbria the rose bushes are glowing.
In Bergslagen pine and spruce are growing
around water-filled quarries.
No one can say who the paternal grandfather was.
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