MEETING POINT
It takes no more than that for me to stop
at a meeting point, where a brochure I’ve brought
with me on the trip claims there is a burial place
from the Stone Age close by. I enter the wood,
and right behind some pine trees on the knoll
I see the stones, neatly positioned in a ring. The circle
is the only line that can send us backward
in time, I stand at a dolmen and think
that I must not waken the dead. Not here,
or at Blomsholm near Strömstad or even at
Stonehenge, where the sun stands still for a few
seconds between the columns. We must leave
the dead in peace. But at this spot on the edge of the wood
the stones are covered by a flat flagstone. The burial place
invites one to a meal, and I sit myself down
at the table, and forget that my car is illegally
parked at the meeting point. That chance I’ll have to take.
Nothing would have amused me more that to get a fine
for having got into a chinwag with a gang of dead
friends from times much more interesting than this one.
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