Saturday, 20 March 2021

Knud Sørensen: 'Om evigheden'




A kestrel is hanging up there

perhaps only

seconds before swooping down,

and the wind sweeps over the hillside

and the grass bends,

as it always has done,

and the earth

has the smell

that some would call

a smell of decay


a smell of richness.

Somewhere close by

there is an open window

and a radio’s turned on

in the room inside,

and the tone heard

is the words

searching out of the house and hiding

like a second voice

inside the wind.

The kestrel

is still hanging up in the blue sky,

and I’m still in the grass

on a hillside

right in my outer rim of Denmark.

The sun too

is gentle and quiet.

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