Monday, March 12, 2012


by Tomas Transtromer
from 17 Poems, Selected Poems

See that gray tree. The heavens have run
through its fibers into the earth--
only a shriveled sky remains when
earth has had her fill. Stolen space
is twisted into a mesh of roots, twined
into greenery. Brief moments
of freedom rise out of us, whirl
through the Norns'* blood and beyond.

* In Norse mythology, the Fates

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